


We Must Be Lonely

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Action, Age Regression/De-Aging, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Collaboration, Fanon, Headcanon, M/M, Mild Gore, Violence, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an age old tale of two lost souls finding one another. <i>Staying together</i>, however, may prove to be the most difficult part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. together/apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between myself and [9arco95](http://9arco95.tumblr.com/). I write the fic, they provide lovely illustrations. I'm looking forward to this project and have planned pretty much everything out. I want to keep some things secret, hence why certain tags (or even pairing) are not listed. More will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> Anyway, this fanfic takes place in a completely alternate universe with a lot of fussing and changing of canon, as you'll come to see. The first thing you'll notice is the age differences with the characters. Drift, for one, is written as being very ancient (and some channeling of RiD!Drift, too.) Also, playing with Roberts's original intention for Ambulon to be a potty-mouth, haha.
> 
> Lots and lots of headcanon and fucking up canon abound!

# Chapter 1

## together/apart

## 

The sun was setting on Alder.

After six hours straight of traveling rough, uncharted terrain, Drift finally stopped once he reached the mountain's large plateau. He hadn't meant to, hand resting on his sword hilt, but the colors were brighter than any he'd ever seen, and Drift took two steps before halting and turning to the setting sun.

Drift frowned, the creases around his dull optics deepening. He'd seen numerous sunrises and sunsets in his long lifetime, both on his homeworld of Cybertron and numerous alien planets. They all started to blur together after a while; their colors always a blend of orange, red, and yellow, followed by night creepily blanketing above them.

Still, Drift supposed this was nice. Or pretty. Whatever. He'd been traveling through Alder for a day now, and had yet to see anything new or interesting. Such a shame, too; there was a lot of beauty on this planet.

Drift was old, too old. He supposed somewhere in the back of his mind he should appreciate all this. Every new sunset meant another day he survived--but the birth of a new day where it all might end would follow. So might as well go out with some sort of lovely imagery.

Drift admired the sunset for another minute or two before continuing on his way. The sharp colors stretched his shadow across the plateau, moving alongside him like a silent companion.

Two, three more days until he'd reach the Cybertronian outpost. A small city run mostly by neutrals called Illex. He'd get a ship then, replace the old one he'd abandon a day ago. Leave this planet and its beautiful sunrises and sunsets and...

Well. Drift never really thought that far ahead.

Drift crossed the flat land, working his way down the mountainside with expert ease. Old but wily. He ignored the slight ache in his knee joints, the strain in an arm actuator. He'd need to rest soon, he knew, though Drift had honestly hoped to get much farther than this. Still, as magnificent as this virgin land was, danger lurked at every corner.

Drift was just lucky the fifty foot tall cybertooth beast had energon he could consume. The creature put up quite the fight, as short as it was. Drift still had a few cubes subspaced, and wouldn't need to worry about finding fuel for another day or two.

With a grunt, Drift jumped from the pile of boulders, descending a good thirty feet before landing into a squat, dust rising into the air before quickly settling again. Armor creaked, and the once closed wound across his thigh (courtesy of the cybertooth's massive tusk) reopened just a little, spilling a few droplets of energon. Drift touched the cut, frowning; nothing his healing nanites couldn't repair. He'd patch it up and buff it out once he was on a ship.

The former Decepticon's HUD had warned him he needed rest. Drift continued ignoring it, at least for a little while longer. He could afford another mile trekking and climbing these jagged rocks and vast hills before stopping for the night.

_"Stop pushing yourself. You'll only make it worse."_

Drift stared blankly ahead, idly stroking his thigh wound. That nagging, youthful voice in his head was much more convincing. But another mile--just one more mile, and he'd recharge. He needed to find a safe place to rest first.

A half-mile of spelunking and ignoring the tired aches in his tired body, Drift stood up-top a hill, overlooking a valley below. There was a clearing of tall grass and a few scattered boulders, surrounded by trees spread out into a wide forest with no end in sight.

Drift sighed as the gun clicked, pointed at the back of his head.

"Picked the wrong day to do some sight-seeing, friend."

Though Drift had heard him approaching, he hadn't gone for his swords. Needed to assess the situation first.

"Turn around."

Drift obeyed. He got a good look at his captor--a well built Decepticon with a smug grin, missing a plate in his teeth.

Toothgap eyed Drift. "Autobot or Decepticon?" he asked, keeping his gun aimed at Drift's face.

"Neither," Drift replied stonily.

Toothgap snorted. "An Alderian NAIL then." He tilted his head aside. "C'mon."

Drift knew he could overpower this Decepticon, but decided to play along, see where this was going.

"Don't try nothin' with those swords, pal. Odd t'see a NAIL packing, yanno."

Drift kept his hands at his sides, away from his swords. Toothgap moved around him, pressing the barrel of his gun against Drift's back. "Move," he ordered, shoving him forward.

Toothgap led Drift down the hill into another clearing on the opposite side. There were three more Decepticons, all surveying and scanning the area.

They were looking for someone. Drift's frown twitched.

"Looky what I found, boss!" Toothgap cackled.

The Decepticons stopped their search, turned to their companion and his catch. "Who the Hell is he?" Boss asked, a mech twice Drift and his captor's size with a cutlass sheathed at his hip.

"Says he's a NAIL," Toothgap replied.

The visored Decepticon walked over. "... I swear I've seen this guy's face before," he mumbled, optic band narrowing. "You sure he's a NAIL?"

Toothgap furrowed his browplates. "Yeah," he growled, thrusting his gun hard against Drift's backstrut, "you sure, rust bucket?"

"He's got swords," Minicon said, "I bet you he's some sorta bounty hunter. Probably after the kid, too."

Drift cocked an optic ridge. So they _were_ looking for someone.

"Well, that ain't gonna fly," Boss snorted. "The bounty belongs to us. And we don't like sharin'."

Toothgap's red optics glimmered. "Should I waste him, Crusher?"

Boss--Crusher--sneered. "Yeah. I was gettin' a little bored, anyway." He jerked a thumb at Visor. "Take his swords first."

Visor nodded. He reached for the holstered blades. "Don't need you tryin' anything funn--"

A split second was all Drift needed; even with a gun pressed against his back and another Decepticon looming dangerously close, he moved in a flash. Swords in hand, he slashed through Visor, cutting the Decepticon cleanly in half.

Toothgap gasped. He went to fire, but then Drift turned--fast, too fast--and Toothgap only saw a shimmer of the sword's blade before it lopped off his hand, both it and the gun falling to the ground beside Visor's bottom half. Energon gushed from the mangled wrist.

"Kill 'im!" Boss snarled over Toothgap's screaming. He equipped his gun, Minicon firing first.

Drift used his swords to shield him from the first three shots, dodging the fourth. Boss readied his cannon and fired; Drift leaped forward, rolling, the blast just barely grazing his back. With a twist of his (sore) knee, he pounced, and Boss was too shocked by Drift's amazing agility and incredible moves to do anything but stare in wide-eyed wonder. That expression remained on his face as Drift landed behind him; with a crack, Boss's arms fell first, followed by his head splitting into two vertical chunks. Both halves fell to the ground, brain module spilling loose.

"You glitched turbo-rat!" Minicon shrieked. He produced a second gun, screaming as he fired relentlessly, angrily at the swift mech.

Drift took a few of the blasts; nothing too serious, fortunately. One gun died, out of juice, and Minicon threw it aside. Drift took this moment to move in, a streak of color and shadow; he twisted aside, dodging gunfire just inches from hitting their target. Swung his sword down and slashed open Minicon's chest.

The Minicon screeched, dropping his gun and tumbling back. Drift thrust a sword into the Decepticon's scarred torso, right through his spark. Minicon's optics flashed, smoke billowing from his gaping maw; he sunk, lifeless, on the sword impaling him.

Drift rested a moment, inventing. He placed a foot against the body sagging on his sword, sliding it off with little difficulty. His blade was slick with energon and fuel. He swung it aside, splattering the nearby trees with the fluids.

Satisfied, Drift sheathed his swords.

The mech looked over the carnage, the clearing covered in scattered body parts and puddles of energon. Toothgap was unconscious, bleeding profusely--alive or dead, didn't matter. He was no longer a threat.

Drift snorted, resting a hand on the hilt of a sword. He walked over the corpses, making his way back for the trail.

Drift got exactly twenty feet before the quiet snap of a branch beside him caught his attention; he drew a sword, immediately clashing with a large cutlass. The one that had been hanging from Boss's hip.

Drift looked up only half way before meeting the furious (and terrified?) gaze of a young protoform. They couldn't have been more than a few years old, wide yellow optics narrowed, teeth grit and bared. He was blocky, and Drift couldn't tell what exactly he turned into-- The protoform snarled as he withdrew the cutlass, slamming it back down. It bounced against the sword clumsily.

Too easy. This kid was an amateur. Though there was a certain strength behind the force of his blows. Drift disarmed him, knocking the cutlass from his hand. Before the protoform could retrieve it, Drift thrust the butt of a sword against the side of his head. The young mech went down with a grunt, collapsing on his back. He started to sit up on his elbows, only for the edge of Drift's mighty sword to press delicately between his optics.

The protoform crossed his eyes, and it was almost comical. Unfortunately, neither mech were amused.

The protoform stared up at Drift, knowing he'd been beat, but that defiant glow in his optics never faded. Drift eyed him--unarmed with a tired EM field suggesting the kid was in need of refueling. He didn't see an insignia on the bot, either.

He was no threat. Drift withdrew his sword, sliding it back into its scabbard. He turned and continued on his way.

The protoform blinked, utterly dumbfounded by what had just happened. He watched Drift stroll back to the large hillside.

"W... Wait..." the protoform mumbled. He gathered to his feet, grabbing at his purple arm. "W--Wait!" he shouted up at Drift.

Drift stopped and glanced down at the youngling.

"You... Why didn't you kill me?" the protoform demanded, optics big and wide. He stumbled closer. "Aren't you... You're not with them, are you?"

Drift squinted, but said nothing.

"You're here to... t-they sent you, didn't they?" the protoform asked, and Drift could detect the tension in his voice.

"No one sent me," Drift said, then turned back around and started walking again.

The protoform gasped and chased after the mech; Drift stopped and turned before the kid could get too close, regarding him with a warning glare.

"If... If you're not a bounty hunter... Are you a Decepticon?"

"It doesn't matter."

The protoform frowned. "Are you heading to Illex?" he asked meekly.

"It doesn't matter."

"I... I'm lost, and I need to go to Illex, too," the protoform mumbled. He looked hopefully up at Drift, and Drift couldn't help but wince at that young, desperate expression.

It looked so damn familiar.

"Will you... Can I come with you?"

Drift studied the protoform, twitching and sagging a little, idly picking at the paint on his arm. He looked... completely hopeless. It was almost like abandoning a newborn kitten with their eyes still closed.

"You trust too easily," Drift stated, turning to face the protoform fully. "How do you know I'm no threat to you? How do you know I won't lead you into a trap?"

The protoform winced. He glanced to a small rock formation nearby. "It... It's better than dying out here, I suppose," he murmured. "Plus, you saved my life."

"That was never my intention," Drift stated.

"But still. I... I owe you." The protoform bowed his head. "Let me travel with you, and I'll--I can try patching you up."

Drift raised a browplate. "Are you a medic?"

"Yes, actually," the protoform said.

Something inside Drift ached. The protoform didn't notice the dim glow in his optics, fortunately.

"Just let me follow you to Illex, and I'll do what I can to help you in return."

Drift considered the offer a moment. The protoform waited, those big optics so full of hope and fear of rejection.

"You're being hunted by the Decepticons. You're a liability."

"I'm not!" the protoform insisted with such determination. "I swear, if anything happens, you can--you don't have to help me. I--I can fight them myself."

Drift snorted.

The protoform pursed his lips and looked back at the pile of rocks, embarrassed. "I just needed to refuel and I would have taken them out..." he grumbled.

After a few more seconds of contemplation, Drift turned around and walked up the hill.

The protoform blinked. "H--"

"Keep up," Drift interjected, "I won't stop to help you."

The protoform slowly grinned. He chased after Drift. "Thank you," he said, exventing, "you won't--"

"Once we reach Illex in two days, we go our separate ways. Is that understood?"

The protoform nodded gingerly. "Right," he said, walking alongside Drift, "right!"

\---

In the end, Drift didn't make his final mile before stopping to rest for the night.

It had been interesting, watching the protoform follow him so closely. He tried not to come off as frightened, but it was painfully obvious he was terrified. He constantly checked to see if anyone was following them, in between keeping a close eye on Drift should he really turn out to be luring him into a trap. At one point Drift found himself having to stop mid-climb to help the kid up the rest of the way. It annoyed him, but once they reached the clearing, the protoform flashed him a grateful smile and--

No. Drift cursed internally. This wasn't going to happen.

"Are we stopping for the night?" the protoform asked, glancing around.

Drift answered by sitting against a tree, folding his arms and closing his optics.

The protoform watched him curiously, tilting his head. He waited a few moments before stepping closer.

"Are you--"

"Go to sleep."

The protoform winced. "Sorry," he whispered. He walked over to the nearest tree, slowly sitting down. He pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees; for nearly three whole minutes he stared at Drift, who looked as if he'd fallen into recharge.

"I have no intention of harming you."

The protoform frowned. "Nor I you," he said.

"That was never my concern."

The protoform snorted. "I told you, I just need to refuel, and then I'll be primed and ready for battle," he insisted. "I'm not weak, okay?"

Drift didn't respond.

The protoform sighed, squeezing his legs. He winced, scratching at the flaking paint on his shoulder. Five minutes passed, and once more he found himself watching Drift. "You know," he murmured, "I never did catch your name. Mine's--"

"Go to sleep," Drift grunted.

"I know, but at least--"

Drift raised his head, angry yellow optics immediately silencing the protoform. "Names are not important," he growled. "Do not wake me again."

The protoform frowned, ashamed. "Sorry..." he mumbled, and pressed his forehead against his bent knees. He exvented again, a little softer this time. Tried to sleep, closed his optics, but... The sound of leaves rustling startled him, and before he could stand to defend himself, he watched the large, four-winged Alderian hawk soar from the trees and into the night skies, cooing and cawing loudly.

The protoform groaned, falling against the tree, the back of his head hitting it with a low _clunk_. He really was hopeless.

It took the protoform another hour before exhaustion finally settled in. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and though he was still hesitant to fall asleep around his new, mysterious companion, he eventually crawled onto his side, closed his optics, and slipped almost too easily into recharge.

\---

Drift cracked open his optics, forced awake in the middle of the night. The protoform again, but this time, it hadn't been intentional.

The kid was fast asleep on the ground, writhing and mumbling. He rolled onto his back, aggressively itching and clawing at his arm. Drift noticed the grooves left behind, revealing dermal grey metal beneath the purple and blue. The protoform cursed, grinding his teeth, browplates furrowing; he rolled onto his side again, digging his fingers into his arm.

Drift quickly surmised the protoform was in some sort of pain, and not just from a nightmare. At one point he even opened his optics, appeared wide awake only to snarl and roll aside, almost into the tree, one hand reaching over his shoulder and scratching relentlessly.

It reminded Drift of something... Something he had seen commonly back when he lived in the slums with nothing but a couple boosters to his name. Nothing but a hope for release from reality, even if that meant death, until _he_ came along and changed all that.

Drift watched him for a few more minutes before closing his optics and settling back to sleep. It wasn't any of his business, anyway.

\---

The protoform woke with a loud gasp, jumping from the ground when he suddenly realized he'd been deep in sleep, completely letting his guard down. He went into defense mode, ready to attack anyone or anything, but when he looked up, he saw Drift sitting nearby, opening a few cubes of dark colored energon.

The protoform blinked. "... Fragging Hell. Scrapscrapscrap," he growled, embarrassed. He sighed and dropped his hands at his sides, fists falling open. "I forgot where I was for a moment."

"You're not safe, if that's what you think," Drift said over his cube.

The protoform frowned. He glanced down at the cubes. "Where'd you get the energon?" he asked. He walked over, taking a seat adjacent of his companion. "They're a weird color. Crude, I'd say."

"I siphoned the energon from the corpse of a cybertooth," Drift answered bluntly, and the protoform looked shocked.

The shock wore into that strange little mix of hope and fear. "... Um, so... Can I have one?" the protoform asked, gesturing to the untouched cube.

Drift looked from the kid, to the cube, then back. He took a swallow and said nothing more.

The protoform honestly couldn't read this guy at all. But, well... He responded something like this when Drift let him tag along. Still, a little uneasy and tense, the protoform leaned forward, slowly reaching for the cube. He kept his optics locked on Drift's sheathed swords.

The protoform's fingers barely brushed the edge of the cube before Drift stopped drinking, glaring at him. The protoform sat back, but kept his hand lingering by the cube. Without a word, Drift pushed the cube against the kid's hand and went back to eating.

"You... You did that to scare me," the protoform huffed, but cracked a weak smile. Drift did not react. Sneering, the protoform took the cube, peeling back a corner and taking a long swallow--only to spit it up with a gasp.

"Do not waste rations," Drift scowled.

"It--It tastes s-so awful! What the frag!? Is this poisonous? I-It's beyond crude--it's downright inedible!" the protoform whined, wiping off his mouth and tongue. "How can you slaggin' drink this tar? Holy Primus!"

"It's a matter of survival," Drift said, "and mind over matter. Besides, we can't always carry a refining device on us." He narrowed his optics. "You _should_ be grateful you get anything at all."

The protoform winced. This mech had a way of making him feel spoiled and guilty way too often. He glanced down at the cube, fidgeting. "... But I'm not sure this stuff would help. It might even make us sick. Or kill us on the spot."

"It won't."

"How do you know? Are you a doctor?"

_"I don't need help."_

_"How do you know? You also a medic?"_

"It won't," Drift hissed, and turned away.

The protoform frowned. He picked up the cube and looked it over. Swallowed loudly and, with a defeated sigh, squeezed his optics shut and forced himself to drink. His face twisted up in pain as he took huge, painful gulps. Mind over matter, mind over matt-- The protoform gasped, lowering the cube; he placed a hand to his mouth, trying not to retch. It took him a minute to recover, his fans whirring.

"This is... so wrong," the protoform whined, shaking his head at the cube. "Fragging Hell..." He took a deep breath before knocking the cube back again, more of the wretched fuel pouring down his throat, meeting his aching tanks. He was half-finished before slamming it down, furiously wiping his mouth clean. "There! I'm refueled!"

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am," the protoform insisted stubbornly. He closed the cube and pushed it back over to Drift. "Feel free to finish, if you want."

Drift quietly subspaced the cube instead.

The protoform sat back, hands on his knees. He looked up at the sky, endless blue and not a single cloud in sight. He smiled a little. Then, remembering-- "Right," he said, sitting forward. "My name's..." Then he went quiet again, as if reconsidering. "... My name's Ambulon. It's terrible, I know, but..." he trailed off, asked, "What's yours?"

"I told you," Drift said, "it doesn't matter."

Ambulon frowned, annoyed. "Look, I'm not asking to be your amica endura or anything, and I know we're gonna part ways soon, but you can at least give me your _name_. Hell, an alias would be fine, even."

Drift finished his cube. "Why does it matter so much to you?" he asked.

"Because?"

Drift exvented. "... Drift," he answered, finally, "and that's all you need to know."

Ambulon's optics widened. "Drift-- That name sounds familiar," he said. He tapped a finger to his chin. "Really familiar..."

Drift gathered to his feet, heading toward the forest. Ambulon gasped, scrambling to his feet. "You know," he grumbled once he caught up with his companion, "you could give me a head's up when you do these things."

"No need."

Ambulon pursed his lips. "Whatever," he said, huffing, " _Drift_."

Drift said nothing.

\---

For a while, the conversation between Drift and Ambulon was minimal. Ambulon was back on alert, keeping a look-out for anymore bounty hunters. Drift was more concerned about the local fauna.

They moved through a forest of tall, metallic trees, leaves crunching like weak crystals under their heavy feet. Climbed over rocks and through thickets and bushes, once taking an old, desolated trail around a mountain.

They stopped a few hours into their journey at a babbling brook. Ambulon sighed, squatting beside the stream; he dipped his hands in the cool water, splashing his face. "I think that fraggin' sludge from earlier is starting to hit me now," he grumbled.

Drift looked away from his vigil, immediately catching those streaks of torn paint down Ambulon's arm. He squinted but, again, did not pry.

"It feels like we've been walking for days now," Ambulon groaned, sitting and letting the edge of his heels dip into the water. He rubbed his arm, stopped to peel away a flake of paint. "Sorry. I just need to rest another minute, then I'll be ready to go again." He waited for a response; when he got none, he continued, "Again, I'm not usually this weak. It's just... Before you came, there'd been some trouble. And what we ate today certainly didn't help my system. Once I have _real_ energon in me, I'm--"

Ambulon shut his mouth when Drift unsheathed a sword, holding it up.

"What is it?" Ambulon asked, jumping to his feet. He looked around but saw nothing.

"We need to leave," Drift grumbled, taking a few steps backward, "now."

Ambulon blinked. "I don't understand--"

But then Drift was running at him, sword ready for a blow. Ambulon gasped; before he could get ready to retaliate, Drift pounced up into the air, thrusting down his blade. Ambulon turned and stumbled back; the air started to shimmer before something big hit the ground.

The edge of a large tusk.

The cybertooth roared in pain, dropping its camouflage.

"Holy flying scraplets!" Ambulon shrieked.

Drift landed on the ground, dodging the large monster's swiping paw. He cut his sword aside, slicing open the creature's arm. It yowled and fell back, only to make another run at the mech.

"Drift!" Ambulon shouted. He searched the area for a weapon, anything to fight with. He picked up a fallen tree branch; it felt thick and sturdy. He ran over with a loud cry, and the cat momentarily stopped to glare back at him with big, red eyes. Ambulon bashed the branch against the monster's paw, keeping it from crushing him. Its talons protracted, and the protoform grunted, buckling against the pressure.

The branch started to crack; he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer.

Drift leaped on top of the cybertooth's back, impaling a sword between its shoulder blades. The monster howled and lifted its paw. It bucked and writhed, swatting at Drift holding tightly onto the sword planted in the cat's back. As soon as the cybertooth lowered its paw, Drift yanked out the blade and jumped free, landing gracefully on the ground. He ran at the cybertooth with a furious snarl; the beast knocked one sword from his hand, but he managed to slice open its back leg with the other.

Ambulon ran to fetch the sword. Drift was dancing away from the cybertooth's swinging mitts. However, the pain in his knee from earlier returned; the mech grimaced and stumbled into the stream. The cybertooth knocked him right through a tree where he hit another. He grunted, HUD flashing warnings. Drift crumbled to the ground, motionless.

"Drift!" Ambulon gasped, clutching the sword. He glared at the cybertooth.

As the beast went to gather its prey, Ambulon rushed up behind it; the sword was heavier than it looked, and his stroke was clumsy. Still, he managed to slice off a small tip of the cybertooth's tail. Not enough to hurt, but it definitely got the monster's attention. The cybertooth snarled at Ambulon, turning and sprinting at him.

Ambulon lifted the sword for another blow, but its weight left him open. Before he could even raise it, the cybertooth struck him upside the head. Ambulon hit the ground rolling, flopping onto his back in the stream. He shook his head, climbing onto his knees.

The cybertooth was fast; it dove forward, mouth open and ready to bite Ambulon in half. Ambulon gasped and quickly grabbed both its bottom jaw and top. He kept the cybertooth at bay, its mouth struggling to close down on his head. Ambulon grunted, the actuators in his arms straining; he managed to widen the cybertooth's mouth another inch.

"N-Not today, you s-slag-heap!" Ambulon snarled. He fell back, letting the jaws snap closed on air. Winding his shoulder back, he threw his entire weight against the cybertooth's face. The beast yelped, collapsing onto its bleeding back. It struggled, paws flailing in the air, before rolling onto its feet.

Ambulon went for the sword. Suddenly, he stopped, looking up. Branches snapped and shook from overhead as something moved closer, right on top of the beast.

Ambulon grinned at the recovering monster. "See you in Hell, kitty-cat."

Drift fell from the canopies, snarling; the cybertooth looked up, just as Drift thrust his sword through its right eye, down to the hilt. The monster howled and struggled. Drift twisted the sword, pushed down again, hitting what he hoped was its brain. Whatever it was stopped the massive beast.

Drift jumped off before the cybertooth could fall to the ground, dead.

"Primus Allmighty, that was fraggin' _awesome_!"

Drift moved around the cybertooth's corpse. He kicked its head--no response but a reflexive twitch. Ambulon scrambled over, dragging Drift's sword with him.

"You were amazing! That was so slaggin' cool! Holy scrap!" Ambulon gushed, his wide optics bright and glowing.

Drift grabbed the hilt of his sword in the cybertooth's glazed eye. Grunted as it took some force to pull it out, taking brain matter and blood with it.

Ambulon gaped. " _Frag_."

Drift turned and snatched his second sword from Ambulon's hands, surprising the protoform.

"Are you okay?" Ambulon asked, suddenly remembering the blow from earlier. He ran over, squeezing Drift's shoulder. "That thing hit you pretty--"

"I'm fine!" Drift snapped and smacked his hand off, glowering angrily at the protoform.

Ambulon blinked, confused. He stepped away. "I told you I'm a medic," he mumbled, frowning, "and I'd help you with your--"

"It's nothing," Drift hissed. He angrily thrust his swords back into their scabbards, ignoring the fact they were both still messy.

"That wasn't fragging _nothing_ ," Ambulon scowled, now downright offended. Really--he may be young, but he wasn't completely naive. "Let me just run a diagnostic scan on you."

Drift huffed. "I don't need it," he said, making way for the forest, "come. We're off schedule."

Ambulon watched him go, irate. "Fraggin' stubborn little glitch..." he grumbled and stomped after Drift.

\---

Drift was well aware Ambulon had been glaring daggers at him for nearly a half hour now, keeping close behind like a second shadow. Drift just ignored him.

Ambulon waited another fifteen minutes before finally snapping, "Look! Just let me run a scan! It won't take long! It's just--"

"I am fine," Drift said. "I am functioning--"

"Arrgghhh, _shut up_!" Ambulon shrieked, grabbing at his head. Drift stopped at that, turning to face him with a look of mild surprise. "Will you stop fraggin' interrupting me!? It's so slagging annoying!"

"You--"

Ambulon jabbed a finger against Drift's chest. "Let me repay my debt and patch you the frag up, okay? Who knows! You might be fraggin' hemorrhaging internally! Then we're both scrapped!"

Drift wanted to argue with the young medic, but... He'd done this before. And it usually never ended well for him. Still, that only made him angrier.

"Drift."

Drift glanced down, surprised to see Ambulon's tone had softened, the fury in his face replaced with concern. He looked sad, and Drift instantly hated it, clenching his teeth.

Ambulon kept his hands on Drift's arms. "Please, just... let me help you," he pleaded. Then, all at once, that submissive look turned into something more mischievous. "I promise to be very gentle--"

"If you continue acting like that," Drift hissed, "then no."

Ambulon shut his mouth.

Drift sighed, rubbing his chevron. "Fine," he yielded, and Ambulon grinned, "do what you must."

Ambulon gestured and helped Drift to a sit. Ambulon activated a scan, plugging into a socket on Drift's head. Schematics flashed across his optics, gathering data on his patient. "Fortunately, there's no internal injuries," he said, "but you've torn two actuators and displaced a couple spinal struts. Nothing too serious--nothing I can't fix."

"The actuators will heal on their own," Drift said. He watched Ambulon suspiciously as the medic unplugged from him, hands on his back. "But my backstrut--how do you propose to fix that?"

"I'll just snap them back into place, no worries," Ambulon reassured. "But you'll need to lie down."

Drift frowned. "So long as the damage is not hindering me--"

"Lay down, Drift."

And Drift didn't know why (though vaguely he did) he obeyed, but a minute later he was stretched out on his front in warm grass, embarrassed.

"This might sting just a little," Ambulon explained, mounting his back. "Disable your pain receptors if you wish."

"I'll be fine."

Ambulon smirked, lining up his hands over the middle of Drift's back. "Always Mister Cool," he said. "I guess the older you are, the more stubborn you get. Can't admit you need the extra help."

"It's nothing like that," Drift insisted. "I don't--" He winced as Ambulon pushed down, hard and quick, locking one spinal strut back into place. "I am used to these injuries. They heal over time on their own."

"For someone your age, you're in remarkable condition," Ambulon explained. He slammed his hands down again, fixing the second strut. Though he was finished, he remained in place. "You're a real warrior. You must have seen a lot. Fought and killed many." He paused. "You've been fighting your whole life, I imagine. Even before the war."

Drift sat up, dislodging the medic. "That's enough," he said. He rubbed his sore back, stretching. "I told you, this conversation is unnecessary."

"I don't want you to tell me your fraggin' life story, Drift," Ambulon grumbled, standing and brushing himself off. He held out a hand to Drift, smiling coyly. "Just maybe a quick, censored summary?"

Drift stared at the hand. Small, long fingers, painted differently from his...

Drift ignored him, standing on his own. "I'm afraid there's no condensed version," he said.

Ambulon slowly lowered his hand. "I see."

"If it's any consolation," Drift added, adjusting his swords, "I don't want to know anything about you either."

Ambulon snorted. "Yeah," he said, scratching his shoulder, "it's a boring story, anyway."


	2. miracle/fate

# Chapter 2

## miracle/fate

Dusk was settling over the planet, melting into another beautiful sunset. The oranges were bright, threaded with pulp red. Clouds from the south were rolling in, grumbling and black, dragging along rakes of rain.

Though initially the two had wanted to press on, Drift insisted they make use of the caves in the mountains for shelter. Not only from the rain, but down below, a valley of bustling wildlife was settling in for the night as well. The larger nocturnal predators would be getting ready to hunt.

One cave fit them both comfortably toward the top of the mountain, beside a trickling waterfall. It was a vein of many, all connected to a larger waterfall on the other side of the mountain, supplying pools of water and subsequent rivers and streams below.

"How're you feeling?" Ambulon asked, emerging from the back of the cave. Plenty of room for them to spread out. "Should we light a fire?"

"We're sitting on top a game trail," Drift explained, sitting, "better to not risk attracting attention."

Ambulon nodded. "But you didn't answer my first question," he said. Drift looked up from crossing his sheathed swords on the ground beside him. "Are you feeling any better?"

Drift frowned. He reached up and tugged on a shoulder joint; turned his head and something clicked weakly. "I'm fine," he insisted. "My injuries are mostly patched up."

"If you want me to massage any joints, I can--"

Drift raised a hand. "That won't be necessary." He tilted his head at the cold ground. "Come. It's time to recharge."

Ambulon sighed. "Do you think we can get better, healthier energon outta any of those things?" he asked, referring to a chromium buffaloid creature drinking at the river below.

"Sleep now," Drift stated, "hunt later."

Ambulon frowned, peeling off a fleck of purple paint on his right shoulder. Underneath, bare, protoform gun-metal gray. "Yeah... You're right," he murmured. "Need more energy..." He stretched out on his side, hand idly scratching between hip and leg joint. "Sleep well, Drift."

Drift nodded and closed his optics.

Drift was asleep for fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds when an alarm set off internal klaxons. He opened his optics, slowly, one hand reaching for a nearby blade... But once his optics had adjusted, and he could see the supposed intruder...

It was Ambulon. Fifteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago, he'd been sleeping across the cave, ten feet away. Now he was just two feet away, and by the wiggling of his body, only moving in closer. Closer to Drift. His level EM field told Drift Ambulon was still in recharge; perhaps this was auto-pilot?

For whatever reason, Ambulon was crawling closer, filling in the distance between them, until he stopped. Stopped right at half a foot beside Drift. Their faces could touch if Drift only bowed forward a little. It was... a bit baffling, and something hot and weird grasped at the old bot's spark. With Ambulon this close, looking so relaxed, his EM field brushing with his recoiling own...

Drift raised a hand, ready to take Ambulon by a shoulder and roughly push him away. But it stopped mid-reach when Ambulon huffed something, his browplates furrowing. His lips twitched, speaking silent words, and then one of his hands was fondling and scratching his chest again. Took off another line of paint.

He didn't know why, but Drift's hand went from shoulder to gently coaxing Ambulon's hand to stop before he made another groove. Ambulon stirred but did not fight back. Drift carefully guided his hand to his side, and it stayed put.

Drift eyed the scratches. This kid was looking more and more scraggly, now that he actually bothered to really look at him. Chunks of paint completely peeled and ripped and scratched off various parts of his body, leaving what little behind as purple-blue splotches like big polka-dots. The right prong of his yellow chevron (scratched and dull) was bent. Ambulon's face looked too thin.

What exactly happened to this--

Drift closed his optics, internally scowled. No. None of his business. What good did it do for him to know? By tomorrow, or early the day after that, he'd say farewell to Ambulon and most likely never see him again. Drift couldn't decide if it was because the universe was so vast and big, or Ambulon wouldn't be strong enough to survive a week without someone to help him.

Drift didn't like that morbid thought. He'd had too many of those lately. Too many people he knew and loved dying. He didn't care much for this kid, of course, but at least he could hope for his survival.

The old bot glanced down at Ambulon from tired, dim optics, creased with folds in his malleable face plating. Wrinkles, some species would call them. Signs of age.

Drift grumbled, and Ambulon puffed out a small exvent. It almost surprised him, for some reason. Drift's optics went lidded, and then... he laid back down. Relaxed, closed his eyes. Powered down into recharge. Let Ambulon curl up almost flush against him, with the medic none-the-wiser.

This was fine. It was for only one night.

\---

Drift was up before the sun. He decided to give Ambulon a few more minutes rest, climbing down the mountainside and washing his swords in the small waterfall. He rubbed his face clean, splashing more of it on his dusty shoulders and chest. It was a little rejuvenating, and by the time he was finished, the sun was barely peeking in the sky.

Drift sat at the edge of the cave's mouth, drying and shining his swords. Fifteen minutes later, he went to wake Ambulon.

Which... actually proved to be a little difficult.

Ambulon grunted and rolled away, kept pushing at his hand, swatting at it whenever he touched him. Growled about needing more time, needing more... something. While a little unusual, it didn't surprise Drift--typical behavior from a protoform, even a year old-one. They tended to need more sleep than their older counterparts--even someone as old as Drift.

Finally, after threatening to leave without him, Ambulon woke with a sigh. They shared another cube of the siphoned cybertooth energon, and Ambulon complained even more. Drift didn't mind that so much; soon the kid would be up, fully awake and energetic as usual.

Except, four hours into their walk, Ambulon remained sluggish and snippy. He was scratching himself even more.

"Stop," Drift insisted, finally snatching his wrist and holding his hand away, "before you have nothing--"

"Back off!" Ambulon snapped. He wrenched his arm free. "This isn't your problem, all right?"

Drift blinked, but the surprise wore off quickly. He'd be upset, but he did grab the kid without his consent. So, fair was fair; they were even. Drift turned and continued onward, keeping lead. Ambulon haunched over and following, feet dragging. He never lingered too far; every few minutes Drift glanced back at his traveling companion, only to see his head bowed, or a hand trying not to peel off more paint--what little was left.

"How much longer is this going to take?"

Drift sheathed his sword, pressing a foot on the head of his kill. A juvenile white megahorn with its antlers still growing out, it would provide more pure energon. Still not the healthiest or tastiest, but they needed to refuel soon. "I told you," he said, yanking out his second sword; energon and blood squirt into an arch, Drift holding a cube beneath it. "It's another day's travel. Maybe more."

Ambulon scowled and paced the area. He angrily kicked up a swath of leaves. "Can't we move faster?" he whined. "Is there no short-cut?" He picked at the back of his helm. "I mean, c'mon; we can get energon later."

Drift filled the first cube. Only got half a worth with the second before the corpse emptied. The half-empty cube would go to the kid. "Watch what you say now," he said, shrinking the cubes and subspacing them, "they might come back to bite you in the aft in the future."

"Right, whatever," Ambulon snorted.

Drift headed for the path, and Ambulon scrambled up behind him. After ten minutes silence, Ambulon loudly sighed and said, "Look, I... I'm sorry. I-I know I'm kinda bein' a huge fraggin' aft-mouth. I don't... mean it..."

Drift remained quiet.

"I'm... I just wanna get off this planet. Get somewhere... somewhere safe."

"Hard to find anywhere safe in this universe anymore," Drift said.

"You know what I mean," Ambulon scoffed. "Just... I wonder if the-- If they sent others. Or if they've decided I'm expendable..."

"The bounty hunters?"

"Yeah."

"If you're valuable, you will be hunted relentlessly to the edges of the universe."

Ambulon groaned. "Well, I don't think I'm _that_ important. I guess... hands clean, y'know? And you gotta clean up after your... your slaggin' messes." The last few words Ambulon spit like venom, laced with disgust and bitterness.

Drift didn't ask why.

"I guess it only makes sense if you're being hunted. I bet you don't have to worry about that."

Drift's hand twitched on his sword-hilt.

Ambulon was a little suspicious, however, but decided not too think too much on it. He walked ahead until he was side by side with the swordsmech. "So," he mused, stretching his long, skinny arms behind his head, "wanna play a game?"

Drift cocked a browplate.

"You use your heat vision to see which object in the nearby area is the hottest. Then I have to guess what it is without using my heat vision. Sound good? Okay, well, I'll go first, then. You try and guess..."

\---

The rest of the day's trip was uneventful. Ambulon had finally calmed down--or at least stopped picking off pieces of himself and complaining. They stopped once to drink and relax before continuing forward. By the end of the day, they were closing in on the main trail to the city of Illex.

"It's a few miles from here," Drift said, pointing to the north. It was getting too dark to wander, and the old bot's damn joint pains were starting up again. No cave this time, but the trees here were taller, thicker, their huge branches and vines intertwining into almost flat surfaces. One strong enough to support their combined weight and give them room to spare. The massive leaves hung low like curtains of Spanish moss, hiding the starry skies. The rain clouds were getting closer now, and surely it would rain in Illex by tomorrow.

"We're getting close," Ambulon said. He looked up, smiling; climbed one knotted branch a little higher. He pushed aside a few leaves. "I can see the lights." Baubles of dim light on the skyline, stretching out for a few miles. "Bigger than I thought, actually. It looks so close, too."

"Tomorrow," Drift said, squeezing his knee. A joint popped back into place and he tried not to moan in relief.

Ambulon was giving him a look again.

Drift glared back. "I'm _fine_."

"Really, it's no--"

"No." Drift adjusted and laid back, propped up a little by the knees from a branch. He pulled a few leaves over for extra cushioning.

Ambulon rubbed a finger beneath his nose. "Yeah," he murmured, "get some rest, Drift. You need it."

Drift huffed, and closed his optics.

And like the previous nights before, Drift was suddenly woken by Ambulon's stirring. This time, however, he knew the protoform was awake. Keeping quiet and moving slowly toward Drift. Drift remained in place, one optic open by a crack, watching closely and curiously. 

Ambulon looked hesitant, sitting back on his legs; he glanced around the makeshift tree house, chewing his bottom lip. Finally, he sat forward, shaky fingers skimming along Drifts spare compartments. Trying to be noninvasive and unnoticeable as possible.

Drift allowed him.

But as Ambulon's hand moved closer for his swords-- Drift almost woke and sat up, but stopped in horror when he saw what Ambulon's free hand was holding.

" _You_!"

Ambulon gasped, reeling back and missing the swinging sword. He couldn't catch his balance, and with a small cry, fell out of the tree, hitting the ground eleven feet below. He moaned, optics squeezed tightly shut, and grabbed his dented hip. His head swam, aching. Ambulon opened his optics, spotting the neuro-booster lying nearby.

"I should have known!"

Drift was suddenly standing between Ambulon and the drugs. Ambulon bolted to a sit, falling against the tree. Drift was infuriated, his optics almost red with rage.

"You showed so many of the signs!" Drift snarled, clenching his teeth. " _I should have known!_ "

"I just wanted one--just to see if you had one, that's a--"

" _You're an addict_!" Drift spat, pointing a sword at Ambulon's face, keeping him pinned in place. "The scratching, picking; the withdrawal symptoms were all so... _Dammit_."

Ambulon scowled. "I'm not an addict!" he insisted. "I--One... One or two every now and then is fine. It helps keep me energized." He pointed to the neuro-booster. "Just let me have that--"

Drift crushed the neuro-booster beneath one boot.

Ambulon hissed. "You glitched old fraggin'-- _That was my slaggin' last one_!"

Drift sheathed his sword and started off.

Ambulon blinked and stumbled to his feet. He gasped, head spinning, and fell back to his knees. He glanced at the shattered neuro-booster beside him.

"Where... where are you going?"

"We are finished," Drift snapped, "you're on your own now."

Ambulon's optics widened. "Wait! Drift! Don't-- Don't leave me here!" He stood, cradling his head. "Listen, I'm not-- I need to-- You don't understand--" He growled and chased after the old bot, swaying and stumbling.

Drift twisted around, sword in Ambulon's face again. "Do not follow me!" he ordered. "Come to me again, and I will take your head."

Ambulon was terrified and confused. "It... Why do you fraggin' care!?" he barked at Drift's retreating form. "You don't give a flying scr--aah!" Ambulon's face pinched, and he collapsed onto one knee, onto his side. " _S-Scrap_!" he screamed, nearly burying his fingers in his optic sockets.

Drift kept walking, moving as fast without breaking into a run. Faster, faster, Ambulon's cries disappearing and quieting. And when he finally stopped and the clouds parted from his angry vision, he realized he was almost an entire mile away from the campsite. He couldn't hear Ambulon anymore.

Drift swallowed. He took a step forward, stopped as his boot met gravel. He looked up, further down the trail, until he spotted the ROAD TO ILLEX sign a short distance away.

For a minute, Drift debated going down the road, moving through the darkness and danger of night to get to Illex, but...

Drift crossed the trail, climbing up another large tree. All the way to its very top at thirty feet. A better view of Illex's city lights from here. Not as much coverage or room, but it would do. He straddled the large branch, held on, and went to sleep.

\---

The next morning, Drift unpeeled himself from the branch, cursing the straining pulls in his back. He climbed to the edge, hopped onto the next tree. Two more down until the fourth was closer to a tree on the other side of the road. He proceeded, hopping from one tree to another, minding his weight on the heavy, thick branches, moving at a graceful speed.

He stopped when he could see the old campsite without getting too close. Ambulon was awake--he apparently hadn't left in the night. He walked in circles, rubbing his face and helm, muttering to himself. Finally, Ambulon's gaze turned to the north, and he started trudging into the forest.

Drift waited and watched from the safety of the trees. Ambulon was a distance away; wouldn't have seen or heard him if he was closer, anyway. But once he was stumbling onto the trail, Drift sighed. He grabbed the hilt of a sword, and with a heaviness in his spark, started his own way to the city.

\---

"Face it. You care for more than just that smug aft of yours."

"Pfft. You wish."

"I don't have to."

\---

Illex was a large town--and a very dirty one.

Every section of this city was shady and poor; buildings looked in need of serious renovation. There were only a few souls wandering the streets. Most of the activity was at the docking bay with all the ships.

Drift went to the docks first. He spoke with one old Alderian; a few shanix and stories of Cybertron's glory days got him a nice ship. Only slightly bigger than a shuttlecraft, it could fit maybe two people and some supplies, but everything else would be cramped. Just the cockpit connected to the cabin, the engine built into the back. He got a quick look at it; nothing spectacular, but it would work until he got something better in the next galaxy over.

Drift would have to wait a few more hours for another standard maintenance check and refueling. That was fine with him. There was a bar nearby he could wait at.

As Drift headed for the bar, he stopped and swung behind a large pile of crates. Two very Decepticon looking folks passed down the street, chatting heatedly between one another. Drift narrowed his optics; he wondered if they were here for Ambulon, too.

Right.

Ambulon wasn't his problem anymore.

Drift waited until they were gone before crossing the street quickly, heading into the bar. Just as one would expect--dark, dim, it smelled musky and like old oil. A few locals and patrons sat at the main bar or nearby tables, mumbling as they talked. A waiter punched the chunky vidscreen a few times before a game rerun cut through the static, catching the attention of a few younger folks.

Drift took the stool farthest from the other patrons. They gave him dirty looks, but not for long. The bartender walked over; another elderly Alderian with a synthetic beard and bushy eyebrows. "How'm help you, sir? Don't mind me sayin', but you def'n'tly new 'ere. Come wif em Decept-cons?"

"No," Drift answered, "I did not."

"S'what em swords for, sir?"

Drift glanced down at his swords and the staring mechs. He touched the hilts, and their gazes averted. "Protection," he said finally.

The bartender chuckled, coughing up dust. "S'pose so. Dange'rous out der. Got em cyberteeth. So what em be, sir?" He gestured a steely skeletal hand at the menu.

"Straight energon," Drift said, "I'm leaving soon, anyway."

The bartender fetched him a cube, placing it before him a minute later. "Whatchu come here for? Ain't no vacation 'sort," he chortled.

Drift didn't answer. He took a few swallows of his energon, and the bartender, old enough to take a hint, left him be. However, the white noise of the bar drifted into silence in his head, and Drift could only think about Ambulon. About each of those nights, when he should have known the mech was suffering from neuro-booster withdrawals.

And he remembered--the first night. He'd said something in his fitful recharge--something Drift recognized, but couldn't quite put together.

"Bartender," Drift said, and the old mech hobbled back over, "the Combicons. Does that word sound familiar to you?"

The bartender scratched his head, thinking. "... Somefin'. I heard somefin'... other day. When em Decept-cons were ere. They said somefin' bout... Combicons er somefin'."

"Do you know what they said?"

The waiter stepped in. "He can't even remember his own construction date," he snorted, and shooed the elderly mech off. "The Decepticons said they were looking for some kid, part of the Combicons. Apparently part of a gestalt unit. Or gestalt something. He and his friend caused a buncha trouble, tried to escape, but were shot down here."

Drift nodded. "So the Combicons... They're a gestalt?"

"They also said something about a 'project.' The Combicon Project. The old cog here asked what that was, but they said it was top secret, and if we wanted to keep our heads, we needed to stop asking anymore 'stupid' questions."

"I see."

One thin browplate climbed on the waiter's long face. "But," he said, leaning closer and whispering, "I did some research later that night. It's confidential stuff, yeah, but supposedly the project is about harvesting protoforms who pass some sort of 'compatibility' test that makes them viable subjects for combiner reconstructive surgery."

Drift squeezed his cube. "Rebuilding non-combiners into combiners? That's-- that's impossible."

"Not with the Enigma of Combination," the waiter snickered, "but since they lost that... Science is the next best thing. But, heh, can't imagine what that must be like. Gestalts are too complicated. S'far as I'm concerned, if you aren't born a combiner, there ain't no way you can rebuild yourself into one. It's just too crazy. And probably painful as frag."

Painful-- Drift could only imagine, and he didn't want to.

But Ambulon, scratching, twitching, seeking some sort of relief--

Drift stood from the bar, slapping down a few credits. "Thank you," he said, and left, both waiter and bartender surprised.

When Drift walked outside, it was finally raining. He stepped forward, stopped. Glanced down the street leading to the docks. He closed his optics, invented deeply, and dropped his head back. The rain felt so cool, so refreshing, and for a moment, the stress seemed to wash away.

_"This is hopeless! I'm hopeless!"_

Drift slowly opened his optics, letting droplets of rain plip against the lenses.

_"A good doctor never gives up on his patient. Even a stupid one."_

Drift grabbed at the hilts of his swords and took off.

\---

The rain was hindering his sensors a bit. He was less agile, given the slippery and muddy surfaces of the streets and rooftops. Still, by a miracle (or, perhaps, fate), Drift was able to track him down.

Surely Ambulon was in the city by now. It was possible he was still wandering along the trail; sick, relapsing... Drift suddenly felt very guilty. Worst yet, that this search would be futile.

However, only ten minutes into his search, just a few miles into the city, he heard their cries--a group of young thugs. He heard their snarling from a nearby alley, followed by a very familiar voice. Drift hopped from a church rooftop, up along the flat ceiling of a small building. He looked down into the alley, where three mechs were circling Ambulon.

"I don't want any trouble," Ambulon insisted, hands raised. He nodded to the tiniest thug with an eye patch. "I just wanted to pay for a couple neuro-boosters. That's--"

"There's a bounty on yer head, protoform," the portly thug interjected with a toothy grin, "them Decepticons said they'd give us a nice, big reward if we bring you to 'em."

Ambulon cursed. "I'm not going back."

Switchblade showed off his knife. "Don't think you got a choice, Combicon," he said, and the group started closing in on Ambulon.

Drift went to unsheathe a sword, but stopped as Ambulon immediately, and easily, bowled Switchblade over, knocking him hard on his rear. He turned to pick Eyepatch up and throw him down, breaking something that had the thug spitting smoke. 

Bigbot charged, waving around his dagger like some insane idiot, but Ambulon knocked it out of his hand and used his shoulder to slam Bigbot into the wall, leaving behind a giant print in the surface.

Drift blinked, surprised and even a little impressed.

Switchblade was back up. Ambulon tried to knock down the flailing, smoking Eyepatch. Switchblade put the protoform in a chokehold from behind, holding the the knife to a vital fuel pump along Ambulon's throat. 

Ambulon choked and grabbed at the arm, but did not struggle to pull himself free.

"You mighta got the first shots," Switchblade huffed, glowering over Ambulon's head at the recovering Bigbot, "but that's only 'cause we let ya."

"Let's get-get-get this aft-head to the C-C-Cons!" Eyepatch stammered. He punched himself in the head. "... Yeah. Better."

Switchblade yanked Ambulon toward the street. "Don't try anythin' stupid, kid!" he sneered.

Ambulon didn't have much of a choice, really. Because at that moment, those surges of pain returned, exploding like fireworks in his head. He screamed, and without thinking, wrenched Switchblade's arm off of him, right out the socket. Not without the knife slitting his fuel pump, spilling precious energon.

Ambulon dropped the arm beside the bawling thug. Eyepatch dove to stab him in the back, but Ambulon turned, grabbed him, and pitched him out of the alley, across the street, and right into a large, empty dumpster. He fell to the bottom with a loud _clang_ , the entire dumpster rattling; the top fell closed with a hard slam.

Suddenly, a fourth thug ran over, a large gang sign painted on his forehead. "I'm here! I can't find the 'Con--What!?" Symbol gasped, recoiling at the sight of one-armed Switchblade. "What happened!?"

"We waste 'im!" Bigbot roared.

Symbol followed blindly, equipping a laser hand gun. Ambulon turned, heaving and aching; his legs began to shake, blood trickling from his nicked fuel pump.

Bigbot and Symbol got a little closer before something large and heavy jumped in front of them, blocking Ambulon and Switchblade from view. They looked up, slowly, jaws hanging open.

Drift stood like a warrior god, swords out and ready to fight. "... It's not worth it," he snorted. "But if you're that desperate..."

Bigbot and Symbol blinked in unison. They lowered their weapons and stepped away.

Drift nodded at the simpering Switchblade cradling his dismembered arm. "Your friend," he said.

Bigbot and Symbol quickly ran around Drift, ignoring Ambulon all together. Bigbot picked up Switchblade, Symbol taking the fallen limb. They glanced at Ambulon, then Drift, and without a word, dashed across the street to retrieve their friend in the dumpster.

Drift heard a loud cluttered noise behind him. He slowly turned around.

"Drift. You-- You saved me ag--"

Ambulon fell from his knees onto his rear, wide optics on the sword in his face. The rain poured relentlessly, taking away streaks of paint.

"Why...?" Ambulon croaked, confused and, at this point, just damn tired. "Why did you save me if you were only--"

"Tell me. Everything." Drift narrowed his optics. "The Combicon Project."

One corner of Ambulon's mouth twitched. "I... It..." His frame started to shake. "But you..." He looked at the ground, not sure what to do, what to say. And finally, as if a dam broke, he sat back, hand across his optics. "Fine. _Fine_. It doesn't matter anymore, anyway."

Drift waited, holding the sword in place.

"The Combicon Project consisted of elite Decepticon scientists rebuilding compatible protoforms into combiners. The fresher the spark, the better; they found protoforms were... easier to convert than adults. They weren't successful, however; they previously tried building six other combiner teams before they... found me..."

Ambulon sat forward, head bowed. The wound on his neck was starting to close, thin streaks of energon mixing with the falling water. "I was an MTO. Brought online as an emergency Decepticon field medic. I served my comrades well for almost a year before I was--heh--scouted by one of the scientists. He took me on board the Combicon Project. Paired me up with... with another protoform scout named Kicker. The... left leg to my... We--All together, there were five of us. And we got along; they became my friends. And the scientists--they thought they'd succeed with us. Because we were so compatible, harmonious. They worked so hard, making sure we'd all... click. And it wasn't necessarily the surgery that nearly killed us--it was the first time we merged as a gestalt. The first time we became a hivemind. Five minds... into one."

Ambulon looked at his quivering hands, the paint on his palms torn up. "It... I can't describe... It was horrifying. There are no words... No words to... to properly... But it was Abdominus, the head of our unit. He--They thought he could handle the hivemind. They thought he'd... But his brain module wasn't ready. _We_ weren't ready. I remember feeling his terror--their terror-- _our_ terror--and I remember being angry and miserable and like I needed to _kill_. I don't remember destroying all those places, killing all those people when I was... in my combiner form... But even when we begged, they wouldn't--they _refused_ to--"

Ambulon's lips pulled back tightly, showing grit teeth. "'Give them another minute. Another minute. They'll adjust.' We begged we pleaded we cried. We wanted the pain to stop. The violence to stop. But they thought we were... No. They were wrong. In the end, when they finally managed to tear us apart, it was... it was just... Abdominus. Abdominus and me. The others... couldn't--couldn't handle--assimilated, lost in the..."

Finally, restraint and strength dwindling, Ambulon let the tears flow, mingling with the rain water. "We ran! We ran as fast as we could!" he sobbed. "But Abdominus, he--he couldn't take the pain. The phantom proximity pains--everything itches, everything _burns_ \--but no, the pain... He blamed himself for losing the others. He thought it was his weakness that killed them. And inside his head, he could still hear echoes and remnants of their fear and fury. He couldn't stand it, and I tried to stop him, but--"

Drift remained quiet and listening, his face ever-stony, rain rolling off his statuesque frame.

Ambulon curled up, crying loud and hard, large coolant tears rolling down his face. "I held him as he died--as he held his spark chamber, his own spark he _ripped_ \-- I held him, and I hated myself, but it felt _good_ , because I was close to him. The pain was gone. Even when we crashed, I carried him with me--I carried him out. I hid with him. But when you came... I left him. I left his body..." Ambulon screamed, digging fingers into the seams of his helm. " _You don't understand!_ The pain can be so _unbearable_ , even though they're _dead_! And every time I feel this pain, I feel _them_ \--I feel _their pain, too_!"

Ambulon sat upright again, looking Drift in the optics. "I... I had a name before Ambulon. I had a _real_ name. But, Drift, I can't... I can't..." He grabbed at his head again, horrified. " _I can't even remember it_..."

"Ambulon."

Ambulon froze.

"Did you give yourself that name?" Drift asked quietly.

Ambulon slowly nodded. "As a... joke. At first. Between Kicker and me. They'd just be secret code names. I became Ambulon, and Kicker became Traipse. They weren't the best names, but it... We were just playing around..."

"If you wish, you can change your name," Drift said, "as you can change your life. No matter what they have done to you, you do not have to go back. And you do not have to live your life in pain." He withdrew his sword. "Honor your friends and their sacrifices and live on. _Fight_. Or allow the pain to consume you; allow the Decepticons to take you back; waste your processors to neuro-boosters until you're catatonic and numb."

Ambulon stared, awed.

"It's your choice."

Ambulon wasn't sure what to say. But. "... Ambulon is still kind of a ridiculous name," he said, chuckling at the memory of Kicker/Traipse's face when he came up with it for the first time, "but then again, all the good names are taken."

\---

Drift sat at the controls in his new ship's cockpit, acquainting himself with everything. Fairly easy system to work for a fairly simple ship. He checked the fuel gauge--completely full. Though he had intended to leave later after letting the ship settle from its systems' check, Drift was eager to depart from Alder once and for all.

"Were you caught?"

Ambulon snorted as he boarded the ship, holding three medikits. "Decepticons left a while back. Guess they're gonna search the forest again." He walked into the single suite, setting the boxes aside. "That should be enough, I think. But you're so fraggin' old, should I--"

"You still want a ride, don't you?"

Ambulon pursed his lips. He checked their supply closet of energon--a nice two month's worth. "The converter still working?" he asked, holding up the device.

"Yes."

Ambulon nearly fell as the ship started up with a lurch. He put the converter back, shut the supply doors. Walked into the crowded cockpit. "You think this tin-can will make it to the next galaxy?" he murmured, picking at the welded-closed cut on his neck.

"Only one way to find out," Drift replied, tapping along the viewscreens. The ship started out of the docking bay.

Ambulon sighed and looked over Drift's head, at the stars through the thick glass of the cockpit roof. "Probably shoulda bought a fourth kit, yeah..." he murmured.

A few minutes later, the ship was taking off, leaving Illex and Alder behind.

\---

"I'm not sure I like this entire 'opening up' nonsense."

"You will. At least one day you will."

 


	3. enemy/friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [mainstreamhecker](https://mainstreamhecker.tumblr.com/post/164673783071/happy-author-appreciation-day-time-is-but-an) did some amazing comic illustrations of scenes at the end of this chapter, and I wanted to incorporate them into the story! They're amazing! Thank you, mainstreamhecker! If you have a problem with me using the art in the fic, let me know and I'll take 'em down.

# Chapter 3

## enemy/friend

  


Ambulon woke with an abrupt snort, balancing himself before he could fall back and hit the wall behind him. In that instant, the ship stopped its sudden shaking--ending as quick as it started.

The medic glanced up at the ceiling of the small cabin. "The Hell was that?" he grumbled, rubbing his neck. He winced, drawing back his hand; flecks of paint were smeared across his palm. 

"Scrap," Ambulon cursed, gathering to his feet. He stopped by the mirror on the way to the door, looked himself over. Aside from some flaking on his shoulder, the paint job from two days ago was still in good shape.

Ambulon stepped outside, right onto the bridge of the ship. Drift was at the controls, his face serious. "Yanno," Ambulon huffed, folding his arms, "I was just gettin' the gist of this meditation scrap--"

"A section of the engine has died," Drift interjected, studying the panel of keys and switches, "it caused a minor blow-out in one of the aft rockets."

Ambulon's optics widened. "Should I be worried?"

"We'll need to replace the unit," Drift grumbled. He sat back. "For now, it's stable, but... It'll be run down completely if we continue at this speed the next three days. If we slow down, we might get a few extra hours."

"That's... a relief?"

Drift typed something on the control panel; a viewscreen popped open, setting destination coordinates. Ambulon strolled over, studying the map.

"Where are we going?"

"Hedonia," Drift answered. Ambulon looked surprised. "It's only a day's flight from here. A minor detour. But I know a place that should have a replacement unit for the engine."

Ambulon blinked. "I've never been to Hedonia before," he said.

"It's... lively."

"So I've heard," Ambulon replied. "A couple Decepticons on the field were talking about it. They said some pretty... interesting and crazy things. One even admitted they picked up some sort of rare virus transmitted through interfacing."

"I'm not surprised," Drift snorted. With the coordinates set, he went back to mainscreen. Fields of stars and nothing more stared back at him. The ship groaned as it made a slow turn for its new destination. "It can get dangerous there, fast. But it is neutral territory. For now."

Ambulon snickered. "Nothing new," he said, "wasn't it you who nearly lost a leg fighting that Nibarian on Scarvix?"

"Had you not given into their taunting..."

Ambulon wrinkled his nose. "I wasn't..." He looked down at the paint stain on his hand. "... Feeling good. At the time."

Drift understood. "And the meditation has been helping?" he asked.

Ambulon shrugged. "A little. But it still sounds like a bunch of cybersnake oil."

"It helps center the mind, and ultimately the body," Drift explained, "it takes time, and above all, patience."

"Well..." Ambulon shook his head. "At least I haven't been flaking as much. You did a pretty good paint job."

"I know I did."

"Will you be able to bring your swords with you?" Ambulon asked, nodding to the weapons secured to the wall nearby. "Or is it gonna be like Elpasos all over again?"

"We'll be fine."

"I mean, a concealed weapon is one thing, but you can't exactly shove those fraggin' things in a spare compartment."

"We'll be fine," Drift repeated.

Ambulon shrugged again. "You know the place, not me,” he sighed. He glanced back at the swords, squinting. Drift was quiet, focusing on piloting. "... Yanno," Ambulon said, "I've met some mechs who liked to name their weapons. A lot of people do, apparently."

Drift didn't reply.

"So, do _they_ have names?"

Drift raised his head. "No," he said a second later.

Ambulon frowned. "I guess it kinda takes away their edge, giving a weapon some stupid name," he admitted. "Still... You ever thought of naming them?"

"No, I haven't."

Ambulon stroked his chin. "What abooout..." He narrowed an optic, thinking, thinking... "Jetstorm, annnd..." He snapped his fingers, beaming. "Slipstream!"

"No," Drift replied, "and I've met someone by the name of Slipstream. She is a memory I would rather all together forget."

Ambulon cocked an optic ridge. "'She'...?"

"They don't need names," Drift insisted, "but... They are known as the Great Swords."

"Well, whatever works. Where'd you get them?"

Drift seemed to visibly stiffen at the question. Ambulon's optics darted around the bridge. Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea...

"A friend," Drift answered, his voice quiet and... almost sad, "an old friend."

Ambulon knew he shouldn't press any further. "... One of my former patients named his sword Burning Justice," he replied instead.

Drift made a noise that might have been a chortle or a grunt.

"Well," the medic invented, "I'll let you... get back to work. I'm going to try meditating again." He headed for the single room. "I'll have my 'spirit' ping you if I succeed in finding my 'inner peace.'"

\---

It had been a futile attempt.

Though Drift couldn't fault Ambulon for trying. He'd been practicing for weeks now, but it always ended up the same. He could never completely immerse himself in meditation, but he did notice the proximity pains had settled a little. It'd be a life long condition, Ambulon knew and reluctantly accepted, but... Well, if he could decrease the episodes, he'd try his damn hardest.

In the end, Ambulon found it easier to concentrate when he was either working (and, considering the people they met and planets they'd come across their short time together, Drift often wound up needing repairs) or just watching his crewmate. Drift outwardly appeared as some wise, in-control sage, but Ambulon was a doctor, and he knew stress and tension and pain when he saw it.

Even after all this, Ambulon still didn't know much about Drift. He wasn't keen on talking about his past, and usually changed the subject whenever it was brought up. Ambulon stopped trying; he understood, to an extent. And, after realizing Drift wasn't going to turn on him like the others, he stopped caring. Ambulon didn't have much of a past--being so young--outside of the experiment, so no stories he could swap in exchange.

All Ambulon really knew of Drift's past was it was violent, and people knew him. _A lot_ of people, it seemed, or so Drift's subtle responses implied. It wasn't something he was proud of; he seemed apathetic, but Ambulon knew it did bother Drift. At least a little.

Question was: was Drift soul-searching, or was he _running_?

Maybe it was both. Ambulon certainly felt like it was the latter for himself. Now, with Drift, the idea of actually living--not just surviving--seemed to have returned to him. And he could see himself being happy, spending many years on board this tin can of a ship with Drift at his side.

Ambulon wouldn't mind that at all, in fact.

Though there were still obvious trust issues, they got along well enough. Drift helped Ambulon with his phantom pains, and Ambulon patched him up after fights (and also setbacks of old age, whether Drift liked admitting it or not).

And that should have been enough, Ambulon believed. It felt like it was enough... Mostly. But a small part of him he wasn't quite sure he understood wanted to... explore. This. ... Friendship? Whatever it was. And maybe, just maybe...

"Do you want me to take the helm for a bit?" Ambulon asked, snapping out of his stupor. He hadn't realized he'd been staring at Drift for nearly a full two minutes until his companion made a tired grunt. "It's on auto-pilot, so I won't crash it. Nothing to crash into, anyway."

Drift stood, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need to meditate, for a while."

"Or just recharge."

Drift shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. He pointed to a section on the control screen. "Keep a look out for any alerts on the engine. If it starts flashing, come get me immediately."

Ambulon saluted and took the captain's chair. He sat back, getting comfortable. "Go to sleep, Drift," he ordered, folding his hands over his chest. "Doctor's orders!" he shouted over the closing door.

\---

Sleep, eat, meditate, try to meditate, switch out piloting, sleep, and then--a little under twenty hours later--they arrived at Hedonia.

Ambulon was slack-jawed as he stared at the vibrant, colorful city before him. There were tall, spiraling towers of the most intricate designs, some very alien, some reminiscent of photos he'd seen of Cybertron in its glory days. Hundreds of visitors and residents passed down the sidewalks, drove in hovercrafts down the winding streets. Ambulon didn't spot a single Cybertronian, however--they were all organic, it appeared, some smaller in size, some much bigger than them.

"Beauty isn't always trustworthy," Drift said, walking beside him, hand on a sword grip.

"So, we don't have to disguise ourselves here?" Ambulon asked. "Because, unless there's aliens who look like mechanical legs around here, I'm kinda fragged."

"No disguises," Drift reassured. The ship door closed, locking on its own. The two headed across the docking bay, into the streets. "The shop I mentioned is run by Cybertronians."

Ambulon looked down (and occasionally up) at the aliens walking around him. None of them looked impressed, or scared; largely, they ignored the two, going about their business. A small fluffy creature with pink eyestalks connected to a leash yapped angrily at them. Its owner--green-skinned, fleshy, dressed in some weird purple and blue leotard--tugged it away.

The two continued on in silence, Ambulon taking in all of his surroundings. He'd easily get lost in this place if not for Drift taking the lead. Drift, who looked bored but was more business-minded and task-oriented. It was hard not to be captivated by all these bright lights and beautiful structures; Ambulon stopped once to stare at a fountain of one humanoid alien holding the hands of two smaller humanoid aliens, liquid gold spilling from the palms of the children's free hands.

Ambulon caught his reflection in the shimmering liquid, beneath mounds and piles of credits and coins and other alien currencies. He didn't know what they were for--guess people were rich enough just to throw their money away. This place certainly did look expensive.

At least, in the heart of the city.

But as they continued walking, farther away from all the lights and action, they made their way to the outskirts. Buildings thinned out into apartment complexes and small shops. There weren't as many people, either. The noises settled, and Ambulon could hear a siren wailing in the distance.

"Not as fancy down here," Ambulon smirked. He spotted a couple round, amphibious aliens in trenchcoats watching them suspiciously from an alley. Ambulon wasn't afraid of getting jumped or mugged--most of the aliens hardly looked like a threat, and Drift's swords were less interesting and more intimidating to them.

It'd been almost twenty minutes of walking and exploring. The affect of the city--at least, this part of town--was starting to lose its charm. "How much farther is this place?" Ambulon asked, glancing up at Drift.

Drift nodded forward. "Up here," he replied, "just around the corner."

True enough, there was a tall building that stood out among all the others to accommodate its giant employees. The paint along the walls was peeling (Ambulon didn't judge it), and the sign was tilted: HEDONIA AUTO-REPAIR. Not a very original name, but sure enough, there were vehicles parked outside and around the building. The garage doors were open, a few obvious Cybertronians elbow deep in their engines.

A silver mech with a visor and maskplate looked up from his work, spotting Drift. His red visor lit up. He waved them over.

"I sent them a message earlier," Drift replied, "I was informed there was no parking nearby, hence why we had to walk so far."

"There's hardly parking _anywhere_ ," Ambulon mumbled. This place was packed.

The silver and blue mech walked over to the duo. His frame was covered in splotches of grease and fuel. He held his hands out to Drift.

Drift complied, taking his hands.

Ambulon thought they were going to shake and then get down to business, but... They remained perfectly silent. Their fingers wrapped and tapped around and against each others, in between soft squeezes. Their gazes never broke.

"What the frag are you doing?" Ambulon asked.

"This is the only Cybertronian auto-repair shop that can supply us with the parts we need," Drift explained, his hands still playing patty-cake with the mechanic, "they're chirolingual only."

Ambulon blinked. The word sounded familiar, but he couldn't pin it. Obviously it meant they spoke with their hands, but it was so rare... Ambulon stayed quiet, letting Drift continue their conversation. He watched their hands closely.

It was... very intriguing, but some of the words signed almost came off as sensual caresses. Sweeping over knuckles, curling fingers, kneading into joints. Drift's hands moved with elegance and speed; he was fluent in this language, then.

Ambulon felt his cheekplates turn hot. He didn't know why, but just watching Drift "talk" with his hands was... absolutely mesmerizing. He had to turn away, his optics bright and flushed with embarrassment. As if he were spying on some intimate activity.

Ambulon looked up, spotting another mechanic in the garage. He'd stopped working, and was staring at Drift.

Drift exvented, Ambulon glancing back. Their hands settled while still holding. "It appears they tried to send a response shortly before our arrival, but the interference in Hedonia's atmosphere kept us from receiving it. The part we need is not here." Their hands started moving again.

"Whatta we do?" Ambulon asked. He saw the mechanic in the garage leave the vehicle he was working on to get a little closer. He stopped again, his optics still on Drift.

"Buyout put in an order," Drift said, pausing, "the earliest they could get the part was tomorrow morning." His frown seemed to deepen, his fingers moving slowly now. "We have no choice but to wait until then."

Ambulon didn't mind this bit of bad news. "It'd be nice to get out of that cramped ship for a while, I suppose," he said. He waited until the two finished talking, Buyout heading back to work. "Why don't we get something to eat?" he suggested.

Drift was obviously annoyed. "Fine," he replied curtly. He stopped, turning to shoot the mechanic staring at him a hard look. The mechanic whipped around, head bowed. "Let's go," he said.

\---

The two headed back to the main strip. There was a large bar called the MOONSTONE that served plain energon and engex. A waiter took them to a table outside; they had a nice view of the city from here, peering down one long street that ended at a sparkly casino and hotel.

Ambulon ordered the nicest engex the house had to offer, Drift sticking to something plain and simple. Ambulon looked from the strip, back to his comrade, still irritated.

"So," Ambulon invented, sitting forward, "where did you learn to speak chiro?"

Drift twitched in his seat, and scowled upon doing so. Another soft spot, Ambulon figured. Christ, was anything about this guy _not_ a secret or sensitive?

_"Once you get the hang of it, it's really simple."_

Drift remembered the way he smiled; knowingly, smugly. The way he chuckled every time Drift threw his hands down in frustration, or cursed when he got a word wrong.

_"Dammit! When is this ever going to be useful?"_

_"It'll come in handy, one day."_

_"Make another hand pun, and I'll cut yours off."_

"... A friend taught me," Drift finally answered.

A friend. Always "a friend." Never any name attached. Ambulon sighed, scratching at his shoulder. "It looks interesting," he said, and hesitated with his next question. "... Think you could teach me? Just a few words, maybe?"

"Like meditation, it takes a lot of time, practice, and focus."

"I think I can manage this one a bit better," Ambulon replied, and held out his hands. "A couple words, that's all."

Drift stared. He took a moment, and Ambulon was just about to say fuck it when their palms suddenly pressed together, fingers curling slightly between his.

Ambulon's spark skipped a beat. His cheekplates were suddenly hot again.

"What words?" Drift asked solemnly.

Ambulon swallowed dryly. "Uhh..." He honestly didn't think Drift would agree, but... "Stick with the basics. Um. 'Hello, how are you?'"

Drift immediately squeezed his hands, and Ambulon felt his spark leap in his chest. Drift's fingers gently but quickly slipped between his, lifted halfway, down--honestly, Ambulon really didn't pay attention. He took note of the movements, of Drift's long fingers petting his, but... The words, as they were, didn't seem to register.

"Do you need me to go slower?"

Ambulon cleared his throat. "Yeah, if you--if you would..."

Drift nodded. Their palms and fingers settled against one another again. Then, slowly, Drift curled his forward, squeezing Ambulon's.

Ambulon couldn't really describe the... sensations, perhaps. But something about Drift's fingers--Drift's fingers touching him--he looked up, mid-greeting, and met Drift's optics. Drift's face was still serious, but calmer now--the irritation seemed to have left his field.

Ambulon was glad.

"Are you paying attention?" Drift grumbled.

Ambulon tittered. "Yeah," he said, "I think I got some of it... down..." He tried repeating the squeezes and touches, stopping halfway. "... That's all I got."

"Focus," Drift said firmly, and once again started from the beginning.

Ambulon briefly debated lying about understanding after this third attempt. And the fourth. And the fifth, sixth, seventh...

"Your drinks, sirs."

Drift pulled his hands free, and Ambulon was momentarily in shock, confused as to what just happened. 

Drift picked up his glass and took a swallow. He noticed Ambulon staring blankly into space, at his now empty hands. "Drink," he said, pushing his glass over.

Ambulon huffed. "Right," he mumbled, clumsily picking up his drink. He took a swallow--and frowned. "This is disgusting."

"It is."

Ambulon squinted. "You _knew_ it tasted bad?"

"I've had it before," Drift replied, "but our tastes differ."

" _Or_ you just wanted to be a scrap-faced afthole."

Drift did not respond to that, but he did not deny the accusation either. Ambulon would have been upset, but he was just glad Drift was out of his funk. He didn't notice (in all his admiration and smirking) he took another swallow, and immediately turned his head to spit it out.

"Sigma fraggit!"

\---

It took a little convincing on Ambulon's part, but Drift finally agreed they could stay at a hotel instead of sleeping on the ship.

After getting some plain energon (which wasn't too bad, thankfully), Drift and Ambulon went to the nearest, cheapest place they could spend the night. One that could fit someone of their statures, too.

It didn't take long, fortunately.

"The Sleep Hut?" Ambulon read the sign across the hotel building. "If this place is infested with scraplets, I'm fraggin' out."

Drift was about to push the lobby doors open when he stopped, taking a step back. Ambulon stopped, too.

"What is it?"

"... Go inside," Drift said, handing Ambulon a stack of credits, "wait for me.”

"What? Wh--" But Drift was giving him a look Ambulon had become familiar with over time. The "don't argue with me, I have swords" look. Ambulon raised his hands in surrender, and Drift walked off, turning down an alley.

Ambulon meant to obey, meant to go inside and book a room. But... Drift was his crewmate, not his boss. He waited a minute for Drift to return nonetheless, and when Drift didn't...

Ambulon quietly, cautiously approached the alleyway. He could hear people talking--Drift was one of them. He pressed his back against the wall, scooting over an inch; peering down the alley with one eye.

Drift was speaking with three of those frog-like aliens in the trenchcoats. They were bigger, however, and whatever they were saying was heated and serious. Ambulon nearly gasped when he saw the gun in Frog 2's hand, pointed at Drift.

 _Scrap_. Ambulon stepped back. He knew better than to run in there, half-cocked, but he had to help Drift.

Suddenly, the gun went off, and someone cursed. No time to think now--Ambulon turned into the alley. 

Drift had cut off Frog 2's hands. His companions whipped out their guns, but Drift kicked one free, dodging a blast from the third.

"Drift!" Ambulon shouted.

Drift unsheathed a sword, using it to shield him from another hit. "Dammit, Ambulon!" he snarled. "Go back insi--"

Frog 2's hands had miraculously grown back. He ripped the gun from his dead, stiff hand, and might have gotten a shot at Drift's back if Ambulon hadn't suddenly run over, shouting at him. It caught the thug's attention, distracting him.

Ambulon threw his entire weight against the alien; he went soaring down the rest of the alley, bowling through the wooden fence at the end.

Drift continued blocking repeated blasts from the remaining thugs. One stopped to turn his weapon on Ambulon, firing. Ambulon jumped back, the shot taking a chunk out of the alley wall.

"You lube-licking glitched--" Ambulon snarled, running at the thug. A blast grazed his shoulder. He launched a fist in an uppercut beneath the frog's chin. Frog 1 flew back, rolling a few feet before hitting a couple trash cans, spilling their contents all over him.

Drift dodged another shot, sword in front of him as he sprinted over to Frog 3. Before the last thug could fire, Drift thrust his second sword through his belly, impaling him completely.

Frog 3 coughed up blue blood before going limp on the blade.

Ambulon snorted, wiping off his chipped shoulder. "Is that--"

Drift jumped on Ambulon, knocking them to the ground. The laser blast cut through the air above their heads, hitting a lamp across the street. Frog 2 had recovered, limping out of the hole in the fence.

"Die!" he snarled, firing repeatedly.

Drift planted one sword in the ground, using it as a shield. He tossed the second, risking a shot to his elbow; the sword spun rapidly at Frog 2.

Frog 2 gasped, raising his arms to shield himself. The sword cut through the limbs, lopping off his head. They hit the ground with wet plops. The sword embedded itself in the wall behind the headless corpse.

"Drift!" Ambulon gasped, sitting up. He took Drift's elbow; energon leaked from a seam. "Frag!"

"It's fine," Drift grumbled, pulling his arm free. He stood, yanking his sword from the ground. He walked over to the third thug, still passed out beneath the trash cans. Drift kicked them off, picking Frog 1 up by the collar of his stained trenchcoat, his webbed feet dangling in the air. "Wake up," he ordered, backhanding the slimy face.

Frog 1 grunted, slowly coming to. He nearly panicked when he realized Drift was holding him, but then Drift threw him to the ground, his sword now pressed to his throat. 

Frog 1 went still, yellow eyes bulging from his sockets.

"Who sent you," Drift demanded.

Ambulon was confused. He thought they'd just been trying to mug Drift. Then he remembered earlier--"Were these guys following us?" he asked, shocked. "What the Hell!?"

"That's what I want to know," Drift growled.

Frog 1 gulped. "I won't say nuttin'," he insisted.

"Tell me who sent you, and I will spare your life," Drift said, "unlike your friends."

Frog 1 looked over at his dead teammates. One decapitated, the other with a giant, gaping hole in his chest. He gulped again. "N-No," he wheezed, "I--I can't, they'll kill--"

" _He'll_ kill you if you don't," Ambulon snapped.

Frog 1 started sweating. The sword moved in closer. He hesitated another minute before whimpering, "F-Fine! It w-was Buyout! H-He sent me!"

"Buyout?" Ambulon turned to Drift. "Isn't that the mechanic from today?"

Drift narrowed his optics. "Yes."

"Why does Buyout want to kill you?"

"W-We weren't s'pose t'kill h-him," Frog 1 stammered. "We... We were s-s'pose t'bring him t-to the shop." His frightened eyes looked to Drift. "One of his men--they recognized you."

"Was Buyout alone?"

Frog 1 sniffled. "F-Franco s-said he overheard h-him talking to h-his mechanic friend," he explained. "S-Somethin' about him c-calling the... the..."

"The _what_?" Drift barked, pressing the sword against his throat and drawing a line of blood.

Frog 1 sobbed. "The DJD! The DJD! I dunno anythin' else! I--I swear! I swear on my w-wife's eggsac!"

Ambulon knew that WORD. Every Decepticon knew that WORD. "The Decepticon Justice Division?" he said. "Why are _they_ after you?" He raised a hand quickly, snapping, "And no scrap excuse this time! Just tell me the damn truth!"

Drift kept his optics on the terrified frog. He withdrew his sword, standing straight. "Leave," he growled.

Frog 1 jumped to his feet, hopping off whimpering.

"Well?" Ambulon pressed.

Drift sheathed his sword. He walked calmly to the end of the alley, stepping over the decapitated corpse and through the hole in the fence. "Many years ago I went by the name Deadlock," he explained. He yanked his second blade from the wall, holstered it. "I was a Decepticon. Ruthless. Merciless. I tormented and killed with pleasure."

Ambulon widened his optics. "Deadlock... I've heard that name before."

Drift strolled over to Ambulon. "I was... insane with bloodlust. Consumed with a powerful fury, a sense of grandeur. I felt untouchable--invincible. I did whatever I wanted." His gaze lowered. "I killed whoever I wanted. I was... a monster. A complete monster."

Ambulon was speechless.

"When I left the Decepticons--when I saw the error of my ways, and finally regained some sanity from my madness--I was immediately placed on the DJD's list." Drift squeezed the grip of one sword. "Since then, I've been evading their radar. Trying to find a place where I may live in peace." He met Ambulon's optics again. "But I'm not only on the DJD's list--I'm also on the Autobot's Most Wanted."

"You..."

"I am an outlaw. A criminal. Running from the law; running from my former comrades," Drift stated. "I am neither Decepticon or Autobot, but I am enemy to both. There's a high price on my head. And, some days, I still feel that old rage come to me--a thirst, a drive, to kill and destroy. I have spent the last few centuries trying to better myself. To leave the old war behind. But it finds me--one way or another, it always finds me."

Ambulon frowned. "... So... then..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We're _both_ outlaws."

Drift raised a browplate. He hadn't expected that response.

"Well, if leaving the Decepticons gets you on the DJD's list, then I'm on there, too," Ambulon continued, shrugging, "and I'm no Autobot, so... I guess we're in the same boat."

"Even after all I've told you," Drift retorted, "you refuse to leave?"

"You've told me everything and yet nothing at the same damn time," Ambulon grumbled. "So nothing has really changed." He smiled crookedly. "You may have been a violent, gun-happy fragger back then... But you're not now. And, well... I think I'm not the same person I was, before I... met you... maybe..." He scratched his cheek. "So, I suppose we should stick together."

Drift was quiet. "Your life is in more danger with me than if you were on your own," he said.

"Obviously I'm not getting to you." Ambulon reached out, taking one of Drift's hands. "So how do I say 'I'm staying with you, you aft-head' in chiro?"

Drift slowly took his hand. He squeezed it once, then let go. "If the DJD are on their way," he said, turning and heading out the alley, "then we need to leave this planet. Now."

"But what about the--"

"We're hitching a ride."

Ambulon halted. "What? With who?"

Drift glanced back at him. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

  
(mainstreamhecker @ tumblr)

\---

"You're going to get yourself in deep slag one day, and I won't be able to bail you out."

"I'm careful. Promise."

\---

"I hate this stupid game!"

Skydive threw his cards down on the table.

Synapse cackled, gathering up the pile of credits. "You tried, my friend," he said, "but I told you--can't beat the best."

Skydive pouted. "I bet you cheat anyway."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Skydive glanced out the window of the ship. "When is the Commander coming back, anyway?" he grumbled. "Everyone else is out exploring, and here we are--stuck babysitting these stupid supplies."

"They should be back soon." Synapse subspaced his money. "It's not so bad, anyway," he replied. "At least the view's pretty."

"Hedonia's party central. I wanna--"

"Hey, hey," Synapse interjected, waving a hand, "instead of complainin', how about we start another game?"

"Hell no!"

"Excuse us."

The Autobots nearly fell from their chairs, instantly bolting to their feet and equipping their guns. Two strangers stood outside the open cargo bay door.

"You might not recognize me," Ambulon said, jerking a thumb back at Drift, "but you may recognize him. Deadlock, also known as Drift. He's on your Most Wanted list."

"T-That's Deadlock?" Skydive gasped, slowly lowering his gun. Synapse shoved it back up into place with a free hand.

"Yeah, and I'm also a Decepticon--well, was, but still," Ambulon explained. He raised his hands as Drift deposited his swords on the ground. "And we're here to turn ourselves in."

  
(mainstreamhecker @ tumblr)


	4. backwards/forwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update! But heeere it is. I'm thinking there'll be a couple more chapters before this fic is complete.
> 
> I went back and did some cleaning/editing of previous chapters, including changing Ambulon's teammates' names, etc, in light of new information.

# Chapter 4

## backwards/forwards

The _Reaping Whirlwind_ was a medium-sized Autobot cargo ship, supplying goods and resources to and from Cybertron. It had a small crew--only about thirty heads--and the living spaces were cramped bunks, but the old ship had been around since the beginning of the millennia-long war, becoming something of a treasured symbol of persistence and determination.

"Frag this Primus fraggin' place."

Ambulon beat a fist against the energy field of their cell. "Hello?" he shouted, voice muffled on the other side. The two guards at the brig doors kept their backs to him. "I know you can hear me, you stupid glitches!"

"That's enough, Ambulon."

Ambulon exvented. He turned, looking down at Drift. The old Cybertronian was sitting on the floor, arms crossed, relaxed and optics switched off. "Finally done meditating?" Ambulon scoffed. "This is ridiculous." He wrinkled his nose at the field screen. "We turned ourselves in willingly without a fight, and this is how they fraggin' treat us?" He growled, scratching the back of his helm and peeling off red paint.

Drift looked up at Ambulon. "Are you in pain?" he asked.

Ambulon's gaze dropped to the ground, as if ashamed. "No... not really..." he mumbled. "Truth is, it's... It's kind of nice. Being in this little..." He shook his head. "But I don't like it, okay?"

"I understand," Drift replied, and he did. Ambulon's body was constantly at war with itself, just sometimes the two sides would call a temporary truce. Now, however, one part of him enjoyed being in the cramped cell, reminding him of his short time combined with his recently deceased comrades. The other half absolutely hated it, since his comrades were recently deceased because of it. "Why don't you try meditating?"

"Can't focus."

"That is the point of meditation. To learn to focus."

"Okay, _don't want to_ focus."

Ambulon did feel bad. Drift was just trying to help. Still surprised the young medic, considering Drift once didn't even care if he lived or died. He exvented again and fetched two small cubes of energon placed in a (now closed) slot by the cell. "But, hey. At least they're nice enough to give us energon."

"Safe then, I assume?"

"Nothing from my scans," Ambulon said, nodding. He handed a cube to Drift, peeling back one corner. He scanned it again anyway. Before Drift could open his, Ambulon took a sip and raised a hand. Drift stopped, watching him. After a minute of silence, Ambulon nodded and continued drinking. "Your old system might not be able to pick up any poisons. Figured I should check it first, since I'm more resilient to fighting things off."

Drift said nothing, and Ambulon awkwardly scratched his neck. Tough crowd. That probably wouldn't change.

The two prisoners sat in silence, sipping their drinks, thinking. Maybe not Drift, who seemed to be getting ready for another hour of meditation. Once the brig doors opened, an Autobot serving the two guards their rations. Ambulon noticed two other mechs lingering in the corridor, trying to peek inside before being coaxed off.

Ambulon smirked. "Seems you've got fans," he said.

"I wouldn't call them 'fans.'"

Ambulon shrugged. He looked at the cube in his hands, nervously rocking back and forth. The anxiety in his spark was rising again, and he quickly cleared his throat, sitting forward. "Hey, Drift," he said, paused, "do you ever think about joining the Autobots?"

Drift looked over his drink at the medic.

"I mean... Aside from our very rude hosts," Ambulon complained, rubbing his shoulder, "they don't seem too bad? All the propaganda paints them as these holier-than-thou aftholes who are really just sadistic gearshifts in disguise. But... I dunno." He picked at the paint on his upper arm. "I mean, I've heard stories about turncoats, and not all were shot on--"

"Stop that," Drift interjected.

Ambulon forced his hand down. "I just think we might have a better chance at surviving if we join the Autobots. Besides, I don't really consider myself the 'evil' type."

"In the beginning, the Decepticons were different," Drift explained, "in the beginning, we--they--were more than war-mongering psychopaths. We stood for a cause; we stood for justice in an unfair system. But that all changed, and the outrageous propaganda became a reality."

"And that's why you left."

"Among other reasons."

"But do you think you could join the Autobots?"

Drift stared into his drink. He squinted at his quivering, purple reflection. "I've done too much," he said quietly, "I don't imagine I'd be very welcomed."

Ambulon snorted. "Yeah, but you don't care about that. What other people think of you, I mean."

"The war has ended anyway," Drift stated, "there is no reason to choose sides anymore."

"Do you really believe that?"

Drift sipped his energon. Didn't reply.

"You're gruff and kind of mean, but you're pretty noble," Ambulon said, smiling softly, "I think you'd be an okay Autobot, if you really put your mind to it. And you're good at that."

Drift hummed. "Noble, hmm?" His mind drifted, back to a cold, dark day. Standing in an alley, covered in another mech's fluids, wild-eyed and delirious with a jagged piece of shrapnel in hand. And there _he_ was, tending to the dying Cybertronian, telling him he'd be okay, yelling at Drift to call for help. Trying to save the very mech who attacked him, who would have slit his throat and bled him dry just for a few credits and the fun of it.

"He would have been an Autobot," Drift murmured. He closed his optics.

Ambulon sat up. "Who?"

"An old friend."

Ambulon frowned. "Which one? I think you have two," he grumbled, digging his fingers into his palms and grinding.

Drift's jaw clenched, and for a moment Ambulon swore the old mech was actually going to tell him. Divulge some of his past. But then he relaxed, though his yellow optics dimmed. Ambulon swallowed, the anxiety churning in his spark, dropping into his tanks. He knew that face--Drift was good at keeping secrets, but sometimes he was painfully easy to read.

Every time Drift brought up this particular old friend, he made that face. Sadness, pain, regret, anger. Ambulon knew he had loved this person very dearly, and he thought of his friends. Not only Kicker and Abdominus and the rest of the Combicons, but the few he could remember during his time as a field medic.

They were all dead and gone, too. It seemed loss didn't age very well.

"Hey," Ambulon sighed, standing. He walked over to Drift. "At least we're going--"

"S'all I got. I'll give you the rest once we're on Cybertron."

Ambulon and Drift looked up, surprised, as two new Autobots entered the brig. One with a submarine alt mode was handing credits to the guards. The other, smaller with feline-like features, stared back at them in open awe.

Sub and Kitty walked over to the cell, Sub moving with an arrogant swagger. Kitty kept behind him, uneasy and less confident. "Well, well, well," Sub sneered, "if it ain't the Vosian Wolf in the armor."

Drift glowered, remaining quiet and seated, though Ambulon could see him tensing. "Vosian Wolf?" he mumbled to Drift.

"You look like a youngling. Probably heard stories, though," Sub chuckled. "The Decepticon poster boy himself: Deadlock."

"Vosian Wolf," Kitty whispered, "responsible for the massacre of fifty Autobots and twenty innocent bystanders during a protest in Vos. Whole streets, covered in energon. Horrible, just horrible." He shook his head, grimacing.

Ambulon winced. Drift said nothing, just kept his optics locked with the larger Autobot. Ambulon exvented, stepping in front of the old mech. "Listen," he said, raising his hands, "that was a long time ago. People change. And anyway, we don't want any trouble. We came peacefully. So why don't you guys just scram?"

Sub laughed. Kitty winced again. "I paid good money to get a look at you," Sub said, ignoring Ambulon. He moved up to the energy field, rapping fingers over the control panel. "In fact, I was hoping to get your 'autograph.'"

Kitty gasped. "Neaptide! No!" He tugged on his friend's hand. "Said we'd only look! Said we wouldn't do anything stupid!"

"He's old and unarmed," Neaptide snorted, yanking his hand free. "I can take him."

Ambulon's optics flared. "Better listen to your friend and back the frag off," he growled.

Neaptide laughed. "What are you going to do, protoform? Cry and scream for help?" He tilted his head at the guards. "They're friends of mine. Not to mention Autobots. They'd probably thank me for punching a few dents in that old scrapheap."

Ambulon snarled, "Frag you, you piece of--"

"Ambulon," Drift said calmly.

"You guys can't do this!" Ambulon shouted at the guards. "Get them out of here! Hey! Are you dense diodes listening to me!?"

"Should go, Neaptide," Kitty hemmed and hawed, "should go, before do something bad."

"Will you relax, Raz? Primus, he can't do nothin'."

"Know very well he can," Raz scowled, clearly frightened, "know very, very well how dangerous he is. Old, unarmed, doesn't matter. Very dangerous. Always dangerous."

Neaptide went to escort Raz out before spotting a large patch of paint fall from Ambulon's leg. He looked the medic over, just now noticing the few cuts and scratches in his paintjob. Ambulon was still yelling at the guards, scratching the back of his helm furiously, almost without realizing it. 

"What the Hell is this?" Neaptide gagged, pointing at the paint chips. "Why are you flaking? Are you sick? Got some sorta nano-parasite?"

Ambulon's optics widened, bulging from his skull. "Screw you!" he barked. He noticed he was scratching, jerking his hand back; red and purple paint smeared the edges of his white fingers. Shit.

"Hey, 'Hoop! Petro!" Neaptide called to the guards turning to address him. "I think this guy's sick. Probably carryin' a disease. We should put him in quarantine."

"I'm not sick, afthole!" Ambulon snapped. His spark pulse was increasing, core temperature spiking. Out of this cell would be nice, but who knew what they'd do to him. Maybe just jettison him out into cold space. 

And Drift would be alone. Drift, his friend. His _only_ friend. Alone. 

Drift would be alone, Ambulon would be alone.

Completely, utterly alone.

Ambulon cringed, grabbing his throbbing head and swaying back. The guards marched over, weapons equipped and reaching for the control panel. Raz squeaked and ran out of the brig.

Before the Autobots could open the cell door, Drift stood, quick on his feet for his age. The guards and Neaptide recoiled, shocked. Drift grabbed Ambulon by the arm, holding him close. He glared at his captors, optics full of something beyond fury and rage. Something much more terrifying and deadly.

"You will not touch him," Drift said, his voice low and even, "and you will leave. _Now_."

Ambulon raised his head, shaking and surprised. "Drift?" he whispered. He moved an inch closer to the old mech.

"C'mon, Neaptide," 'Hoop murmured, pushing the stunned Autobot sub toward the door. "It's n-not worth it. We don't need the trouble."

"Yeah, just... go back to your quarters. We're gonna get caught."

Neaptide swallowed dryly. He jut out his chin, attempting to look cool and collected. Ambulon knew he was scared, however, his entire EM field quivering and clamping down to his frame. "Whatever," he spat, "you're both gonna rot anyway."

Drift waited until Neaptide was gone, the guards back to nervously shuffling at their posts. He let Ambulon go, looking down at him. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Ambulon's optics were bright, cheekplates hot. "Huu? Uh--oh! Y-Yeah. I'm... I'm fine." He tried to wipe the paint off his fingers. "Loads better, now that those pieces of scrap are gone." He flipped a dirty sign at the guards.

"Sit down and finish your energon," Drift said, moving back to his place on the floor. Relaxing as if nothing even happened. 

Ambulon blinked, disoriented for a moment. "Uh, right... Yeah." He sat down, cradling his cube in silence.

\---

Ambulon had only ever seen Cybertron in photographs. Most were old, before the planet was ravaged and torn apart by war. To Drift, it didn't look much different. Not as shiny, but Cybertron was never pristine. He was used to the decay and filth anyway.

"I-It feels like I'm being put up for some matchmaking thing," Ambulon whispered to Drift behind him. The two were being escorted out of the ship, hands bound in stasis cuffs and at least four Autobots in front and behind them. Drift had extra restraints placed on him. According to the _Reaping Whirlwind_ 's captain, Cybertronian police were waiting outside to pick the two up.

Ambulon glanced back at Drift.

"Optics forward, Decepticon," an Autobot growled.

Ambulon waited, just a split micro-second, but it was all he needed. One corner of Drift's frown twitched. He quickly turned his head back around, trying not to smile.

The captain took up the very end of the line, carrying Drift's Great Swords in a containment field. They stopped at the cargo bay doors, waiting for crew members to open them.

They didn't get the chance.

Ambulon yelped, surprising the Autobots. With them distracted, he threw all his Combiner-strength weight into the Autobot in front of him, successfully bowling him and the other three down. Deadlock whipped around, having somehow loosened his restraints; he bashed his fists into the nearest Autobot's face, headbutting the second before they could fire their gun.

Ambulon rolled away, avoiding a blast. He and Drift ran behind one giant metal cargo box. Drift finished pulling off his bonds. He went to help Ambulon, but the medic gave a low snarl and snapped the cuffs in pieces. "Not bad, huh?" he smirked, rubbing his scratched wrists. No other visible injuries.

No time to be impressed, however. Autobots were coming around the box, guns ready. Drift and Ambulon ducked down, parting ways. Ambulon wrestled with one Autobot, decking him in the face and dislocating his jaw. Even Ambulon was surprised. He gasped, a shot hitting him in the shoulder, energon springing free; he snatched the gun from the ground, avoiding another blast and turning to fire on the Autobots.

Drift was running for the captain. He was forced to drop the swords to equip his gun; Drift was too fast. He slid, energy blast flying above his head, kicking the captain in the shin. The captain stumbled back. Drift pulled him down, taking his gun and breaking it in one hand. Pinning the captain to the floor by his throat, he reached over, punching the locking device on the box holding his weapons. The field fizzled and winked out of existence; Drift grabbed one sword, looked back, and threw it.

The sword grazed one Autobot's neck, energon spraying free and blinding his comrade. The blade impaled the control panel, shooting out flashes and sparks of electricity. The cargo bay doors sputtered and came to a stop, opened only a few feet. Police outside were rushing over, trying to get in and help the crew.

Ambulon shot another Autobot in the abdomen. Not a kill shot; he didn't want to kill anybody. His left arm was going numb from the hole in his shoulder, and he'd taken a couple hits elsewhere. At least his Combiner body was good for one thing. He heard screaming, a loud _crunch_ , but kept running to the second panel door, firing at any Autobot who came near.

Deadlock slammed the heads of two crewmates together, knocking them out cold. One dropped to the ground; he picked up the second unconscious Autobot and threw him at a group running at him. One managed to shoot his mid-section, and Drift recoiled, grabbing at his bleeding, smoking wound. He swung his sword back, dispatching an Autobot about to blow off his head from behind.

Ambulon watched Drift fight, awed and optics glimmering. Equal parts amazed and horrified. Ambulon had only taken out a small number of the Autobots, but Drift--out of the thirty member crew, he'd taken down at least twenty of the poor sods. Neaptide, who once was so gun-ho about fighting Drift, was trying to crawl out of the short opening of the cargo doors. Ambulon smirked; the mech's aft was in the air. He fired a shot at it.

Neaptide screamed, sprung a leak, and fainted.

Raz was running by, small enough to squirm out the cracked doors. "Grab him!" Drift shouted at Ambulon, holding an Autobot in a headlock.

Ambulon snatched Raz by his tail, yanking him over. Raz shrieked, protracting steel claws from his digits and slashing Ambulon's arm. Deep enough to actually open and tear his armor. Ambulon shoved the barrel of the gun against Raz's temple, and the Minibot went rigid. "Hey, so," Ambulon vented, licking his cracked lips, "you got any explosives down here?"

Officers and volunteers paced around and surrounded the ship, a nearby crowd watching and whispering to each other. Cops were already trying to hold off news hounds who'd gotten wind of Deadlock's capture.

A blue and green Autobot rushed over to Shatterpoint. "I can't contact anyone inside, chief," the officer stated.

"Has Scrounge managed to override the code locks?"

"He's working on it. But, sir... We can't see anything, not through that opening. Firing blindly, we might hit our people."

Shatterpoint squinted. "If Deadlock's in there, they're probably already dead," he growled bitterly. "Prepare the concussion grenades. I want every surrounding off--"

"Put your weapons down! We have hostages!"

Shatterpoint snapped around. He didn't recognize the first voice. The loud cry that followed, however, was unmistakably the captain's. Shatterpoint raised his hand, the officers lowering their weapons on stand-by.

The blue-green officer handed Shatterpoint the megaphone. "We don't negotiate with criminals," he said firmly, "release the hostages and exit the ship with your hands up, before we're forced to take drastic measures." The crowd behind him gasped.

"Tell your officers to stand down," Deadlock ordered.

"Had you come out peacefully, all of this could have been avoided, Deadlock," Shatterpoint said. "So, what is it that you want?"

"For you idiots to move. At least... a little more to the left."

Shatterpoint scowled. "Is that the Decepticon medic?"

The blue-green officer nodded. "He calls himself Ambulon. No record on him, though."

"Ambulon? What a terrible name."

"Hey, you wanna say that a little louder?" Ambulon shouted. 

Shatterpoint glared at the megaphone, holding it back to his mouth. "Release the hostages first, then we can start--"

Raz squealed as he was suddenly shoved out the door. Officers quickly ran over, pulling him away to safety.

"Good," Shatterpoint said, "now if you'll just--"

"Duck!" Raz screamed. " _Duck_!"

The cargo bay door exploded, sending chunks and sheets of metal into the air. The crowd screamed and dispersed, officers also scattering and shielding themselves. Shatterpoint dropped his megaphone, falling over. A military jet flew out of the _Reaping Whirlwind_ , dangerously low and almost hitting at least two larger officers.

Shatterpoint rolled onto his back, watching the jet take off toward Iacon, leaving behind streams of smoke.

Shatterpoint punched the ground. "Dammit!"

Ambulon laughed, wedged uncomfortably in the back seat of the jet. "Better than any explosives," he said. He grunted, pushing the back of Drift's head. "But, uh, I'm kinda getting a little air sick. I'm not saying slow down, but can you not, you know, pilot like a chrome-bat outta Hell?"

Drift didn't say anything. That would be normal, but something about his silence was off. As was his weakened EM field.

"Drift, you okay?" Ambulon asked. He couldn't move much, unable to look his partner over. "Your wounds--are they bad?"

"I'm fine for now," Drift said, one hand clutching his torn abdomen, "just a little longer. I know some place safe."

\---

Drift and Ambulon landed on the remains of what used to be an old ship dock by the Rust Sea. Ambulon gave the jet an extra push into the murky waters. He grabbed his wounded shoulder, sighing. "Well... Completely numb. That's no good."

"Come," Drift said, limping away, "before anyone sees us."

Ambulon quickly ran over. He slid his right arm beneath Drift. Drift stiffened, almost pushed him away; too weak, too tired, he leaned a little of his weight on the medic.

"Where are we going?" Ambulon asked.

"A place I once called home."

\---

The slums of Iacon looked just as they did so many years ago. Nothing had changed. Maybe more people, but still a dump. Empties sat on the streets, outlaws and rogue Decepticons hiding in the derelict buildings. No one seemed to recognize Deadlock yet; then again, no one seemed to care.

"At least the bleeding's stopped," Ambulon murmured, looking down at Drift's wound.

"Turn down the next alley here," Drift ordered, keeping a close watch on their surroundings. "There's vultures following us. We'll lose them in the sewer."

"Scrap. Okay."

Ambulon hadn't even noticed anyone tailing them. Even half-conscious, Drift was more aware and alert than him. They ducked into an alley abrupt and quickly, and Ambulon did hear some commotion down the street as the thugs chased after them. Drift closed the manhole before they could be seen; he tried to secure the cover in place, but was too weak. Ambulon jammed it shut with a metal rod. For a moment, they listened to the sound of footfalls running above the cover, disappearing down the alley.

"Good thing you didn't leave a trail either," Ambulon said. "But they're bound to realize we can't run that fast..." He stepped aside, letting Drift take lead down the sewer. The canals were full of filthy rust and water from the sea and old plumbing. The stench was indescribable. Switching off his olfactories didn't even help, he could still smell the wretched muck.

Drift, of course, didn't mind in the least. But he was starting to slow down, faltering. "We need to stop before you re-open your wound," Ambulon insisted. Drift seemed reluctant, but didn't argue. They walked ahead a few more steps before climbing inside a tunnel. It was dry and full of scrap metal, choked by debris from collapsed buildings outside.

"We can't stay for long," Drift said, "others will find us."

"Just sit down, okay?"

Ambulon helped Drift down, leaning him back against the wall. He moved Drift's hand aside, grimacing at the wound. Dermal nanobots had already stitched some of it closed, and while the blast hadn't hit any vital organs, Ambulon knew it was still serious. "Yeah, okay," he exvented, scratching his head, "this... I can't take care of this. I need medical supplies. We can't go anywhere until I clean and seal this thing up."

Drift invented. "Use what you have," he said, voice a little ragged.

"There's nothing here but dirt, debris, and garbage," Ambulon spat, picking up half of a bent CAUTION sign, "I can't do anything with this!"

"My defense matrix will take care of any germ contamination. At least hold it off until we get the supplies we need," Drift explained. "You can weld scrap over it to keep it closed."

"No! That's--no!" Ambulon scowled, standing and pacing the tunnel. He rubbed his hands together, scratching at his head. Drift was too tired to tell him to stop. Finally, Ambulon turned back to the old mech, browplates furrowed. "I'm gonna go out. When we flew by, I saw a clinic a couple blocks away. I'll go steal some supplies."

"Not in your condition," Drift said, "you're wounded as well."

"Not as bad as you. And certainly not as life-threatening."

"No."

"We've been together for, what? A few weeks, maybe a month now?" Ambulon said, squatting in front of Drift. He smiled gently. "I've picked up a couple things. I'm not afraid. I think I can handle myself, especially if most of the residents here are like those old withered bums."

Drift glowered. "Do not underestimate your enemy."

"Right, right. And don't underestimate me, how about that?"

Drift frowned.

"I'll case the joint, see if it's safe. If I can't break in, if it's too dangerous, I'll come back. Even empty-handed, I'll come back, and we can just... crudely slap some things together and pray you don't get cosmic rust." Ambulon shuddered. "This place is a cesspool. Just had to hide down here. Scrap, if I see those slagheaps that followed us, I'm gonna--"

"You don't have to come back."

Ambulon's optics widened. "What?"

Drift shifted, sitting up a little. Ambulon quickly helped him. "Leave, and don't come back," he said, inventing. "You risked so much earlier... I told you not to fight. I told you to stay back, to stand by if I needed you."

"You couldn't've done it alone." Ambulon paused. "... Okay, maybe you _could've_ , but... No, I don't think you could have."

"Your slate can be cleaned. It is not as soiled and sullied as mine," Drift murmured, "you still have a chance to live a free life. To change. But you... By killing those Autobots, you--"

"I didn't kill anyone. I made sure none of the shots or blows were fatal," Ambulon insisted. "And we did shove the hostages in one of those cargo boxes before flying out. Safe from the explosion and engine blasts. Psychological damage? Sure, but who doesn't have that nowadays?"

"Then leave me, and don't come back. Make your own--"

"Yeah, okay, I'm gonna stop you here," Ambulon scowled. He shook his head. "Let's not do this. Not right now. You need help. Maybe after I've patched you up, you can give me another soulful speech about me still being 'pure' and 'innocent' and to ditch you in the gutters. But not right now, okay?" He sighed, running a hand over his helm. "Just... not right now."

Drift studied Ambulon's face.

"Besides. We could have just surrendered. Could have just gone to jail, been sentenced to life imprisonment. Maybe deactivation. But you fought--we fought." Ambulon took one of Drift's hands, placing it over his abdominal wound. "I think that means we're still a bit too rowdy and naughty to stop our adventures just yet. Maybe we're not cut out to be Autobots--not yet."

Drift stared another moment. "Ambulon..." He started. Ambulon stood, waiting for him to finish. Drift grumbled to himself, closing his optics. "Be careful."

"I was a field medic once, you know," Ambulon said, "I think I can handle this battlefield, too."

\---

_"You don't need to be alone."_

_"I have always been alone. I'm used to it. Besides, it means I am never disappointed if things fail."_

_"..."_

_"What? No sarcastic quip? No eye-rolling?"_

_"You're real stupid sometimes, you know? So stupid for someone who's suppose to be twice my age."_

_"Age does not equate wisdom. And you have no right to call me stupid. Back there, in the alley--you could have died."_

_"But I didn't. He was afraid. He needed help."_

_"He wanted to mug and kill you."_

_"Were you so different once? Were you any better than he was when I found you?"_

_"Don't."_

_"I love you, you know. But sometimes, I just wish we'd never met."_

_"We can't change the past, but the future is all ours. Don't worry. I'm leaving tomorrow; I'm going with them, and nothing you can say will change my mind. But if it helps, you won't see me again. That I promise."_

\---

This was stupid.

So, so stupid.

Ambulon wished he'd taken a gun with them. He wished he had more than scrap to arm himself with. He was wounded, and even if it wasn't anything serious, it still made him an easy target. He didn't know this area; didn't know anything about this damn planet. The clinic could have been five blocks away, ten blocks--Hell, he could have just misread the sign. It might even be closed; why would a clinic be open in this shithole anyway?

But Drift needed help. And Ambulon needed medical supplies if he was going to help him. It was idiotic, but it was his only option. Drift wouldn't have made it with some simple battlefield repairs--he knew, he'd done so many. Too weak, and his age... Drift didn't have to like it, but he was old, and they weren't immortal. Besides, Ambulon knew Drift probably hadn't seen a medic or gotten any proper repairs or system defrags in a very long time. The stubborn glitch had made it this far, but now he was really starting to push it.

_No more lone Vosian Wolf, you old diode._

Dammit. Wandering these back alleys, taking all these shortcuts, jumping here and ducking there--everything would be so much easier and faster if he had a functional alt mode. No good without his team. Useless, shitty alt mode; even if he got to the clinic faster just hopping in his alt mode, he'd definitely be attracting much more unwanted attention.

"Scrap," Ambulon growled. He took a moment, kneeling behind a dumpster and empty canisters. Fiddled with the circuits in his elbow. He managed to connect a couple only mildly damaged, giving him a little more mobility in his arm. A few fingers could move and flex; not much help, but he could at least hold something with his mostly broken hand now.

Two good things: he made it to the clinic without further injury or muggings, and the clinic was, indeed, open. One very big bad piece of news: it was full, overrun by patients filed outside the doors and down the sidewalk.

Ambulon cursed. Case the joint first. The front and sides of the clinic were left to the open. No way to sneak or break in. However, its back was to an alley, probably an emergency entrance and exit. Might be secured. Had to be secured. Half the patients looked like they were going to kill someone if they even got so much as a weird look.

Ambulon took a small detour, down another alley before turning back onto the sidewalk. Gate doors were closed and locked, shutting the emergency lane from outsiders. A camera watched from above, occasionally moving to scan the area.

Even Ambulon noticed it was low-tech. Cheap shit. He waited until the camera was turned away before making a running jump on the gates, climbing over the top and collapsing on the other side. He sat up, quickly in defense mode, reaching for the rusty pipe he was carrying to fight off any security guards.

There were none.

Ambulon was surprised the gate didn't electrocute him. There wasn't even a single line of barbwire. "This place..." Why even bother putting up gates then? But Ambulon still had to be careful. He squatted, pipe in hand, and weaved as elegantly down the alley as possible for someone of his frame and bulk.

Ambulon stopped, moving back down along the wall, narrowly avoiding being seen by a medic. The single emergency vehicle outside transformed, waiting for the garage door to open. Whistling, he stepped inside, yanking the door down behind him. Ambulon heard the distinct click-claks-thuds of locks being secured. He was sure he could break them, and if the camera above the garage door was as useless as the one by the gates...

Ambulon inched closer, and that's when he spotted the back door. This one looked a lot more sturdy, however. The camera had finished its scan, and would remain idle for a full minute. Ambulon ran out, studying the door; no alarm system he could see, and biting his lip, he slowly reached out and tugged on the door handle.

Again, nothing. No bells or whistles. The door was locked, however. Ambulon figured it was still worth a try.

"Combiner strength," Ambulon whispered to himself, using his good hand and the pipe to try and pry the door open. Maybe he was more weak than he originally thought. Ambulon was forced to run back down the alley, allowing the camera to do another scan. Exventing, he returned to the door and continued fighting with the locks.

Ambulon hid twice more from the camera before the door finally gave. Overjoyed, Ambulon threw it open.

And the alarm went off.

"Scrap!" Ambulon gasped, swinging his pipe at the siren above the door. The glass shattered and the siren stopped wailing, disabled. But it was too late. Ambulon rushed inside, looking down a corridor with four doors, two on each side. A supply room toward the middle; he got five feet before a security guard came running down the hall, electric baton in hand.

Ambulon darted for the supply room, stabbing his pipe against the lock. The guard brought his baton down on his bad shoulder, but he couldn't feel anything. That was good? Ambulon punched the guard in the face, grabbed his baton (ow, very ow, electricity searing through his fingers and hand) and threw the mech into the door. The door flew off its hinges, the guard collapsing on top of it.

Ambulon stood in the doorway, panting and bewildered. No, no--shit! He could hear more people coming. There was no window in the supply room; he couldn't grab what he'd need and get out. His only choice was to run, and hopefully escape down the winding alleys.

There was a stack of simple med-kits by the door. He could grab one of those. Ambulon reached to snatch one up before he was suddenly yanked back and off his feet. He couldn't feel the hands around his numb arm, pulling him inside a room. The door slammed shut on his face, a white and red mech suddenly stepping in front of him.

Ambulon opened his mouth, but the medic turned and held a finger to his lips. Ambulon quickly shut it.

The medic looked fairly young. Older than Ambulon, but still youthful. He waved a hand at the desk. Ambulon was confused. The medic started waving harder, growling. Ambulon understood what he was saying, but not _why_. Guards were banging on the door; Ambulon jumped, diving underneath the desk.

The medic opened the door.

"There was an intruder! Kickspeed's been knocked out! Did you see anyone?"

"He was green, I think, I don't know. Dark colors," the medic explained, sounding upset, "I told him to stop, but he waved a pipe at me so I ran back inside. I saw him take off out the exit from my door. Is Kickspeed all right? Want me to look at him?"

"He's fine; Pill's taken him to a room. Thanks, doc. C'mon! He might still be close!"

The medic nodded, watching the guards leave. He stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. 

Ambulon poked his head out from under the desk, glaring over a piled of datapads. What... was that? And maybe he should go? Ambulon went to grab his pipe; cursed and remembered he'd left it in the hall.

There wasn't a window in this room either. More a combination between office and exam room. There was a desk and chair alongside a med-slab and counter with sink and supplies. A poster of an old mech waving a cane in the air warning "youngsters" to get their oil checked once a year hung on the wall.

 _What do I do?_ Ambulon chewed his bottom lip, scratching his cheek and helm. _I'm a complete and totally fraggin' idi--_

The doorknob jangled. Ambulon reached up, grabbed the nearest object (a speculum), and hid back beneath the desk. He waited, tense and ready to lunge as the medic--or someone else--walked over.

"Are you hurt?"

Ambulon winced. The medic squatted, blue optics full of genuine concern. He quickly noticed Ambulon's shoulder wound, among the many scratches and cuts. "Scrap," he grumbled, "that looks nasty. What'd you do? Try to stop a cannon blast with your body?"

Ambulon was... so confused.

"It's happened before, and I'm sure it'll happen again," the medic grumbled. He held out a hand. "C'mon. I'm not going to turn you in."

"Why?" Ambulon blurted.

The medic scowled, annoyed. "You're testing my patience, bot," he huffed. "I'm trying to help you here."

Ambulon frowned. He got up, but didn't take the hand. The medic snapped his fingers, wiggling them at the speculum Ambulon was holding. "No thanks," Ambulon mumbled, "help or no help, I feel safer with something heavy in my hand."

The medic smirked dryly. "Sit down," he said, nodding to the slab. "Let me look at your wounds."

"Just _why_ are you helping me?"

"I'm a medic. It's what I do. Besides, you think you're the only fool who's tried breaking into this clinic because you're desperate?" The medic's youthful features softened. "I get it. That's why I'm here. I'm not gonna turn a patient away. You don't need to be scared."

"I'm not sure I agree."

"Fine. Will it help if I gave you my name?"

"It might."

The medic nodded. "Well, hello then, would-be thief," he said, holding out his hand again, "my name is Ratchet."


	5. past/future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No illustrations for this chapter, alas! Busy busy busy people. Feel free to submit any art inspired by this fic/chapter, and we'll add it here! Send any fanart to: cheshireneko @ gmail . com!

# Chapter 5

## past/future

"It's Ambulon."

Ratchet looked back from the door, blinking.

"My name," Ambulon invented, "is Ambulon."

"Ambulon," Ratchet replied.

Ambulon waited. "... Yeah?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me how awful my name is?" Ambulon asked, browplate raised.

Ratchet shrugged. "I figured you were used to people telling you that all the time, so eh, why bother?"

Ambulon scowled.

"Right, Ambulon," Ratchet said, moving to his desk. Ambulon stepped aside, still holding the speculum. "Let's get a look at your wounds." He took a medkit from a drawer, gesturing to the slab.

Ambulon widened his optics, standing straight. "Scrap," he cursed, "no, wait-- My friend! My friend D... Riff! My friend Riff--he's heavily injured, and if he doesn't get help ASAP, he's gonna go septic and probably die!"

Ratchet leapt over. "Take me to him," he ordered, " _right now_."

"I just need supplies," Ambulon insisted, "I'm a medic myself, okay? I can take care of him--"

"Clock's ticking, Ambulon!" Ratchet barked, hand on the door and peeking out the frosted glass.

Ambulon ground his teeth. "Fine!" He childishly threw down the speculum. "But how the scrap are we gonna get outta here without anyone catchin' us?"

"The same way you came in," Ratchet said, throwing a surgical tarp over Ambulon's head and opening the door.

\---

No one spotted Ratchet hurriedly guiding the half-hidden bot out the back door. Ratchet quickly transformed once outside.

"Uh, about that," Ambulon coughed, "I can't transform."

"Why not?"

"I... It's a long story."

"Get inside," Ratchet grumbled, back doors swinging open, "you'll fit."

Ambulon nodded, climbing into the back of the van. Ratchet tore out the emergency lane, nearly knocking down the gates. Ambulon gave him directions to Drift's location while using the medkit to repair his shoulder and arm.

"What's the extent of his wounds?" Ratchet inquired. "Your friend's."

"Uh, most of them are superficial," Ambulon answered, sealing up a torn shoulder cable, "but my biggest concern is a deep gash he has on his torso. He's also an old bot--like, really scrappin' old. I dunno if you have any experience in geriatric care, so..."

"I've been around a long, long time, Ambulon. I'm sure I can handle it."

Ambulon wrinkled his nose. "... Why are you doin' this?" he questioned. "I mean, trusting me. For all you know, I could be leading you into a trap."

"I'm a doctor, kid. It's my job to know the inner and outer workings of a bot. That includes knowing when someone's lying," Ratchet chortled.

"Kid?" Ambulon hissed. "I'm no fraggin' protoform! You're, like, at least a few hundred years younger than me!" Not really, but Ambulon was offended and didn't care.

"Ha! I'm almost four million years old. What are you? A hundred? Fifty?"

"Whatever, just hurry up."

"Goin' as fast as I can, kid."

"Don't--"

"Where did you come from, if you don't mind me asking? You mentioned not being able to transform, and I can't see any identifiable vehicular parts on you."

"It's not like I _can't_ transform, just..." Ambulon looked away, uncomfortable. He was starting to hate how calm and relaxed he felt inside this snarky van. Being surrounded, connected... "I don't wanna talk about it."

"That's fine." A pause. "But you should know you're not using the correct screws for that. You need at least one size larger."

Ambulon stared at the tool in his hand, surprised.

"But it's okay," Ratchet teased, "a common rookie mistake."

"Okay, now you're just bein' fraggin' mean."

\---

Once they arrived at their destination, Ratchet transformed, Ambulon hurriedly leading him down the manhole and through the sewer. Ratchet gagged at the smell, energon churning in his tanks. "This is why everyone's so sick around here," he groused, glaring at the muddy, rusty water.

"We're comin' up to the spot," Ambulon said. A brisk walk later, he stopped, raising a hand to the Autobot medic. "Gimme a sec. He may be ancient, but he's quick on his boots, and doesn't really like people."

"Wonderful."

Ambulon disappeared into the large tunnel ten feet ahead. Ratchet looked around, holding his medkit to his chest. He was a little nervous, admittedly; Ambulon might not be a threat, but who knew about his friend, Riff...

Ambulon reappeared a minute later. "Yeah, he's bein' a little glitch," he jeered, "but c'mon in. He won't hurt you."

Ratchet frowned. "Again, wonderful." Nonetheless, he followed Ambulon, albeit wishing he'd brought more than mace to defend himself. "Riff? My name's Ratchet," Ratchet called ahead before climbing into the tunnel, "I'm a medic, here to look over your--" Ratchet gasped, immediately stumbling back; the medkit hit the dirty ground, causing Ambulon to jump.

Ambulon looked at Ratchet--shocked, maybe even horrified, eyes bulging and mouth agape. He turned to Drift--he, too, looked surprised, even hurt. But that could've been from the pain. "You... two... know each other?" Ambulon mumbled, pointing between the silent, awed bots. It dawned on him, then, and Amublon fell back, hitting the wall. "Holy frag. Don't... don't tell me," he gulped, "you're one of _them_?"

"T-Them?" Ratchet stammered, eyes locked with Drift's.

"One of Drift's like, two friends," Ambulon answered, his mind reeling. "This can't be-- I mean--"

"Drift?" Ratchet whispered, stepping forward. Drift winced. "Is it really you?"

Drift slowly turned his head, optics lidded and dim. "... Why are you here?" he mumbled.

"Because he's a medic with tools we need to patch you up," Ambulon said, annoyed. His browplates climbed beneath his yellow chevron. "But... you knew that... already."

Ratchet swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it again. He, too, was puzzled, even angry. "You... But you died," he choked, optics burning. "I thought you-- All this time, and you've been..."

"I thought you perished as well," Drift said.

"I didn't believe them... One minute you were a ruthless Decepticon mad killer, the next they said you defected and disappeared. Or you were killed. I thought... I wanted to look for you..."

"It's good you didn't," Drift replied. He sat up, hand peeling back from his wound. Ratchet grimaced. "I didn't want you to see me... after everything I did. After our fight. Even after I left the Decepticons, and I found the Circle of Light, I didn't want you to know I was..."

"The C-Circle of Light?" Ambulon blurted. "Are you fraggin' kidding--"

Ratchet ran over to Drift, dropped to a knee and... hugged him around the neck. Ambulon and Drift were both alarmed. Ratchet squeezed tight before sitting back. "Ambulon," he said, shifting into work mode, "hand me the medkit."

Ambulon nodded, a little scrambled. He took the medkit to Ratchet, opening it for him.

"We'll need to clean--"

"Did Ambulon tell you it was I who needed help?" Drift asked, shooting an icy glare at Ambulon. 

Ambulon's hands flew up. "Hell no! I said your name was Riff! I didn't know he was-- How could I?"

Ratchet started spraying disinfectant in the wound. Normally it would have stung, but Drift remained aloof, staring at the medic. "Are you angry?" Drift asked a minute later.

"Yes and no," Ratchet grumbled. "You thought I was dead. You thought I wouldn't want to see you again. Wrong on both accounts, but your spark was in the right place, I suppose." He dried the outer plating with a rag. "Besides, you would have risked capture--or something worse--if you went looking for me. I recently returned from... Nevermind, it's a long story." He smiled crookedly at Ambulon.

Ambulon smiled slightly back.

"I've been working at a free clinic a couple blocks from here. It's about to shut down. Cybertron's a total mess," Ratchet scowled. "We're low on funding. We won't be open much longer." He switched out tools, shining a light on the ruptured hydraulics.

"Things have... changed," Drift said, timid, "I've changed, too. You wouldn't recognize me if not for--"

"Scrap, I'd recognize that stubborn aft of yours from anywhere," Ratchet snorted. He started fusing the cables back together, light sparking from inside the wound. After a minute, "I see you have a thing for medics."

Ambulon spat. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"We're teammates," Drift said, "and that, too, is a long story."

"So I've heard."

"You guys obviously go way back, but... Well, you can't be the one who gave Drift his swords."

Ratchet sneered. "Always did like playing with sharp, stabby things."

"No, he did not," Drift confirmed, and Ambulon noticed the slightest bit of humor in his tone. "They were... They were a gift from Wing. A NAIL who fled Cybertron shortly after the war broke out." He met Ambulon's dubious gaze. "A high ranking member of the Circle's government."

"When did this happen?"

"Long ago. Very long ago. It was due to Wing's patience, guidance, and wisdom that I broke free of my bloodlust and much of my rage. He trained me, taught me how to be stronger--not just physically, but mentally as well," Drift explained, closing his optics. "Alas, I was unable to save him from Lockdown and his group of slavers." His browplates furrowed, the bloodied hand at his side slowly curling into a half-fist. "It was because of me... They all died because of--"

"You still got that martyr complex, huh?" Ratchet interrupted.

"No," Drift grouched.

Ambulon couldn't help but giggle with Ratchet.

"I thank Wing then," Ratchet sighed, welding plating into place, "for bringing you back to your senses." He looked up, catching Drift's melancholic gaze. "But you still could have... I dunno. At least tried to contact me. See if I was alive. I know... I know I tried to find you. And it probably wasn't enough, but it was still something..."

"So," Ambulon thought aloud, counting on his fingers, "Ratchet, and Wing. The big two. The _only_ two."

"Only two what?" Ratchet queried, swiftly looking up then back to his work. "Friends? Y'know, that doesn't surprise me. You always had a bad habit of chasing and scaring people away."

"Obviously not enough," Drift gibed.

Ratchet snickered. "I guess we medics are just too tough to be so easily rattled."

"And stubborn."

"Look who's talkin'," Ambulon harrumphed.

"Almost done here," Ratchet informed, chewing on his tongue, "I'm not gonna ask how you got these wounds, but at least tell me you weren't followed?"

"No. As far as we know, that is," Ambulon explained. "And... You're not gonna turn us in, are you?"

"I don't see why I should. I don't know anything about you or your friend, Riff," Ratchet replied coolly.

Ambulon grinned.

Drift wrinkled his nose. "Riff?"

"Drift, Deadlock, Drift--you keep changin' names, why not _change_ them up?"

"It's a terrible name."

"Well, you're not exactly the kindest, purest of bots."

"You haven't seen me in millennia. What do you know?"

Ambulon was... surprised, by just how open and relaxed Drift was around Ratchet. At first, he was edgy--unusual, given his response to outsiders and strangers was more frigid, less nervous. Now as they talked, as they _joked_ , Ambulon could see why Drift, a self-declared loner, considered Ratchet to be a dear friend. 

Looking at them, they were complete opposites--Drift, old with creases along his sunken optics and mouth, heavily armored, covered in dirt and battle scars both old and new. Ratchet, slimmer, much younger (but not as young as Ambulon, he knew), pristine and polished. Their hands, they were the same--Drift and his swords, Ratchet and his medical instruments. They used their weapons of choice so elegantly and expertly, watching them work was fascinating.

The tension in Drift's EM field was draining. Ratchet was much calmer now, too; at first a little defensive and obviously prepared for the worst, despite claiming to trust Ambulon. And in these past few minutes, in the months Ambulon had come to know and familiarize himself with Drift, his companion was smiling more than he ever did before. Even if he tried to remain and come off as disinterested and cold, Ratchet and Ambulon knew the truth.

Ambulon suddenly felt like he was interrupting a very important reunion. As if the tunnel was shrinking, and he needed to step out, give the two some space.

"All finished," Ratchet declared, bringing Ambulon back to attention. The medic sat up on his knees, sighing and putting away his tools. Ambulon walked over; the older bot did some very impressive work. "Don't do anything strenuous for a week or two. No exercising, no sparring, no maiming, no sword fighting."

"Got some fraggin' awesome hands on you, Ratchet," Ambulon whistled, studying the repairs up close. "Nice job."

"What can I say?" Ratchet smirked proudly, holding up his red hands. "I _am_ a forged medic. From the most complicated surgeries to patchin' up a tiny tear, my repairs are always perfect."

Ambulon bit his lip. "Yeah... Yeah, I guess."

"There's that racist pride," Drift grunted, "that superiority complex."

"Oh, shush," Ratchet scowled. "I'm just saying: the best medics are forged." He looked at Ambulon, slightly baffled, a little expectant. "Sorry, maybe?"

"I'm an MTO," Ambulon said, "we weren't built with emotions. That's bourgeoisie scrap."

Ratchet rolled his optics. "Right, well, I didn't mean-- No, let's drop it." He put his dirty tools and rag back into the medkit, shutting it. "The problem now: what do you two plan on doing next?"

"We... don't really have a plan," Ambulon confessed, rubbing the back of his helm.

"Well, it certainly isn't rotting down here. You'll get sick exposed to this toxic waste for too long," Ratchet insisted, standing. He removed a spare rag from a compartment, wiping off his hands. "And I'm gonna wager neither of you have a single shanix between you."

"A wager you lost," Ambulon jeered.

"Not enough for the supplies and shelter we need," Drift admitted. Ambulon threw his hands in the air. "I tried getting rid of Ambulon, told him he's in danger if he stays with me. I can't very well go to a shelter without immediately being arrested."

"And _I_ told this dumb aft I'm not goin' anywhere without 'im," Ambulon snapped, folding his arms. "We'll figure somethin' out."

"Well, I'm certainly not just gonna leave you two here," Ratchet said.

Ambulon blinked. "But--"

"Does anyone know you've returned to Cybertron?" Ratchet asked Drift.

Drift exvented. "... A few people."

"The entire city and police force of Iacon," Ambulon grumbled, embarrassed.

Ratchet bowed his head. He thought a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. "... Fortunately, you may be in luck," he said, looking up. "If you were planning on staying on Cybertron, forget it. Decepticon or not, you're--forgive my language--pretty damn fragged."

"Like we fraggin' didn't know that already," Ambulon huffed.

"Ambulon," Drift mumbled.

Ambulon sighed and let Ratchet continue.

"In a week, I'll be leaving Cybertron," Ratchet explained, browplates knitting together. "I'm going on a quest with a friend of mine. We're..." He closed his optics, exvented. "... We're searching for the Knights of Cybertron."

Ambulon held back laughter.

"You really don't believe in that nonsense, do you?" Drift asked, dubious.

"It doesn't matter what I believe. I was personally requested by the captain and commander of the ship--the _Lost Light_ \--to join. Since the clinic's shutting down, I figured there's no harm in going." Ratchet shrugged. "Also, if there's a chance we can find others who don't have but desperately need medical attention, who can't get back to Cybertron... I'd like to help them."

"Always the saint," Drift jibed.

"Oh, if you want," Ratchet laughed sharply, pointing, "I can charge you for the repair work. It'll only be a few thousand shanix."

"Drift." Now Ambulon was the one scolding.

"This captain and commander--your friends... Who are they?"

"Oh, you might have heard of Hot Rod. Wait, sorry--Rodimus." Ratchet rolled his optics again. "Younger than me, but not by far. Made a nice dent in the war. Got close to the Matrix, too, or what's left of it."

"Holy slag," Ambulon gaped.

"And the commander is..." Ratchet trailed off, lips a thin line.

Drift and Ambulon waited.

"... Ultra Magnus."

"Ultra Magnus?" Both Drift and Ambulon repeated, the former skeptical, the latter hysterical.

"There's no way in Hell someone like Ultra Magnus would ever let us on board his ship! You want to help us, but you'd just be leadin' us right to the fraggin' wolves!" Ambulon exclaimed, scratching angrily at his arm.

"Who said Magnus had to know?" Ratchet smirked mischievously.

"Yeah," Ambulon grunted, "I'm pretty sure Magnus'll appreciate us being on board _even more_ if we're stowaways."

Ratchet shook his head. "Not stowaways, just... not you." He looked between the two. "Different aliases, maybe different frame-types. I got friends in high places who can easily write you up new identities. So flawless, not even Red Alert would know any better."

"How high?"

"Higher than ten Combiners standing on each others shoulders and smoking a metric ton of Femax moss."

"You're outta your damn mind," Ambulon snapped. Drift went to stand; Ambulon stepped over, but Ratchet took Drift by the arms and helped him up. "It's too dangerous."

"I'll vouch for you guys," Ratchet pressed, guiding Drift over to Ambulon. "Rodimus and Magnus both trust my explicitly. If they were suspicious, my word would keep them off your back for good."

Ambulon clenched his fists. "I just don't think it's a good idea," he said, speaking more so to Drift. "I mean, we're already pushing our luck. I'm sure you think it's a bad idea, too."

"... Not entirely."

Ambulon gawped. "What?" he yelped. "Are you--are you--but we just--"

"Earlier you said you'd consider joining the Autobots," Drift interrupted, fingers lightly brushing Ratchet's hand on his elbow, "well, here's your chance."

"I get it's risky. I know. But staying on Cybertron's just as much a gamble as leaving," Ratchet said calmly. "And, to be honest, they could do with more medics. Not only was I personally requested, but as far as I know, the only other medic to sign up was Hoist." He snorted. "Hoist's good, yes, and competent, but since we all agree I like to toot my own horn, I'm exceptionally better."

Ambulon glowered.

"Last I was told, the roster was around two hundred. Two medics? Not gonna be enough. Especially since I know half the people joining got a few screws loose. Which makes it easier for Drift to blend in, considering many of these bots have black marks on their records, too," Ratchet explained. "Ambulon, you'd be tremendously needed. I know I'll need the help--and if _I_ need the help, Hoist _definitely_ needs it more."

"Aren't I just a cold forged rookie, though?" Ambulon sneered bitterly. "I'd only get in your way."

"You know I was teasing, and I didn't mean to offend you. You've kept Drift in one piece so far, and that tells me you know what you're doing."

Drift smiled again. Ambulon scratched his shoulder.

"I... suppose. I mean, yeah, I'm pretty damn good at my job," Ambulon agreed, "but this is... _Ultra Magnus_. The strictest Autobot in the entire fraggin' Autobot fleet. What if he found out? I never met the guy, but I know enough stories that I'd never wanna cross his path on a bad day. Or any day. I've heard about the ten mile long stick up his--"

Ratchet exvented, raising a hand. "First off, let's get out of here, before the fumes rot my CPU." He helped walk Drift out of the tunnel. Ambulon watched them another minute, holding tightly to one another, hip to hip. "I'll take you back to my place. You'll be safe there."

Ambulon followed after the two. "Hey," he said, optics flashing, "if you can't convince your buddy to give us new records--and not to turn us in--then how about we stay at your place while you're gone?"

"It's rent controlled," Ratchet replied. "It's true the war's over, but the stigma and prejudice of Autobots against Decepticons and vice versa remains. Everyone's uneasy. You might have a good chance finding a job, Ambulon--Primus knows this place could use a ton of renovation and helping hands--but Drift is right. He wouldn't stand a prayer out there. Not with his long criminal history; and I'm not even including his record _before_ the war."

"What do you think, Drift?" Ambulon asked, walking beside the recovering mech.

Drift was quiet still, thinking. "... I am as skeptical as Ambulon," he confessed, and that made the younger bot feel a little better, "but... At this point, I will always be a hunted man. I knew that one day, in some way or another, I'd end up dead or buried alive in some jail cell until my spark was extinguished."

Ratchet bowed his head. "You can trust me. I know... I know things have changed, but..."

"Drift can trust you, maybe," Ambulon said, "but I don't know a thing about you. You might have repaired Drift out of charity, and you may be one of his only living friends, but that doesn't mean I can just shrug and, 'yeah, cool, okay, count me in.'"

"You don't have to go with us, you know," Ratchet suggested, and Ambulon almost felt as if he'd been slapped across the face.

"He's right," Drift agreed. Double slap. "You know your chances here are better than mine."

"Did you forget where I came from?" Ambulon spat. "I'm a wanted bot! There's the DJD, and bounty hunters sent by the gearsticks from Operation Split Infin--" He quickly shut his mouth, optics wide.

Ratchet stopped, turning him and Drift around. "On Neutronia?" he asked, alarmed.

Ambulon winced. "... Yeah." He scratched at his arms. "Damn turbo-cat's outta the fraggin' bag."

"... You didn't hear?"

Ambulon froze. "Hear what?"

"A week ago," Ratchet said carefully, "Autobots found the secret location where the project was being conducted. When the Decepticons refused to surrender, the Autobots wiped the facilities and everyone out. Not a single Decepticon survived." He shook his head. "They said--they said the project was a complete failure. There wasn't a single 'Con who survived any of the experiments."

"Did they release any names?"

"No."

"Well, they're wrong, obviously," Ambulon said, hand to his chest, " _I'm_ the only survivor. My team... Everyone's dead, you say?" He felt relieved, but also a little disappointed. "I s'pose they just planned on burying the whole mess. Me an' all those who were sacrificed with it."

Ratchet reached out a hand, squeezing Ambulon's shoulder. "Ambulon... I'm sorry, I really am. For you, for your losses. And you may still be wanted, yes; if they do want to cover the project up, I don't think they'd be pleased with you ever coming forward. That is, if they have any idea you're alive."

Ambulon jut out his chin defiantly. "See? I'm no worse off than Drift."

"But on the _Lost Light_ , you can start anew," Ratchet offered. "No one will know who you really are."

"But what if they _did_?" Ambulon countered.

"I'll be fighting alongside you," Ratchet smirked.

"Let us continue this conversation at Ratchet's," Drift said, finally moving on his own. "Ambulon, ride with Ratchet. I'll take the rear." He removed a sword from its sheath, optics narrowing. "We're not out of danger yet."

\---

It turned out Ratchet wasn't just a smarmy bag of steam.

The three encountered a number of road checks on their way back to Iacon. Ambulon was afraid he'd be discovered once they asked Ratchet to transform. However, Ratchet need only provide identification, and the bots let him pass without further question. He really was a celebrity, then; must have rubbed elbows with Optimus Prime personally. They didn't even ask about Drift.

Forty minutes later, Ratchet, Ambulon, and Drift arrived at the Autobot's place. Fairly large, though very plain. Not many decorations; even a few badges he earned for his services in the war lied on the floor.

"I need to make a call to my friend, then I'll get you two something to drink," Ratchet stated, disappearing in the other room.

Drift slowly stretched out on the sofa, as per both medics' orders. "Drift, this is insane," Ambulon whispered harshly, squatting beside Drift's head. He kept his optics trained on the door; heard Ratchet speaking a second later. "I know he's, like, your best buddy, but he can't protect us. Not from the likes of Ultra fraggin' Magnus and two hundred crazy Autobots."

"'Have a little faith,'" Drift hummed, optics closing, hands folded over his chest, "that was one of the first things Wing said to me when I questioned and argued against his methods."

"But you changed. Who's to say Ratchet hasn't changed, too? For the worst, maybe," Ambulon doubted, clawing at the chipped patch on his knee. "Maybe _he's_ leading us into a trap."

"You may be right, but I don't think so."

"What about this shady friend of his? The one with all the power. He could turn us in; could be a joint effort. Probably for a reward. They might just be fraggin' conjunx endurae for all we--"

"Ratchet," Drift almost growled, silencing Ambulon instantly, "is not that kind of person. I trust his judgement."

"Maybe he _wasn't_ that kind of person once upon a time before an insane war turned us all on each other, no."

Drift glanced at Ambulon. "Were you not so quick and willing to trust me when we first met, Ambulon?" he challenged.

Ambulon was taken aback. "... Yeah. Well. I was kinda in a bad place at the time. Kinda goin' through withdrawals." He picked paint off his thigh.

"Stop."

Ambulon dropped his hands. "But it's different now."

"I am," Ratchet said, suddenly reappearing, cubes of energon in his hands, "but not in any way that would harm either of you."

Ambulon winced. "You... heard us?"

Ratchet just smiled. "Here. You need this." He handed Ambulon and Drift cubes of energon. "And a wash, but that can wait. My friend said he'd speak to me later, somewhere more private and secure."

Ambulon noted the color of Ratchet's drink was much darker. "What's that?" he asked, curious but also suspicious. He scanned his drink for any drugs. Drift was already sipping on his.

"Oh," Ratchet chuckled, swishing his cube, "engex. Really expensive scrap. I'd let you have some, but you don't need it. Not in your conditions."

"I thought your partying days were long past you," Drift mumbled, drinking more.

Ratchet laughed. Ambulon looked between them, obviously out of the loop. "A bot can have a drink every now and then to relax," Ratchet insisted. "It's good for you." Except for the large, long swallow he took. " _Very_ good."

"Don't get overcharged on us," Ambulon snipped, placing the cube cautiously to his lips, "you might do something _stupid_."

"Ambulon, friend," Ratchet sighed, and even Drift chortled, "believe me. I can hold my engex. Really, _really_ well."

\---

Ambulon was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep.

That didn't stop him from pretending. Didn't matter if Ratchet or Drift could see through him. He was still mad, and didn't want to talk anymore. As Drift recharged on the sofa, Ratchet wished them both a goodnight, and promised to talk to his mysterious friend in the morning. Ambulon watched Ratchet retire to his room. Watched the bedroom door for a very long time.

An hour passed. Ambulon held back an exvent. He was antsy, anxious, wanted to scratch and pick. But he practiced what Drift taught him, trying to center his mind and meditate. It wasn't working; it rarely ever did. Suddenly, Ambulon heard soft stirring behind him, almost rolling around. He remained absolutely frozen, and soon Drift came into view, standing in the middle of the room for a minute. He glanced at his swords leaning by the door, then started walking toward Ratchet's bedroom.

Ambulon continued watching as Drift stared inside the room--at Ratchet, most likely--for a short while. Unsure, clutching the door frame.

"Drift?"

Ambulon squeezed his optics shut. Waited. He cracked open an eye, just as Drift walked into the room. The old friends started talking, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, speaking in hushed voices and whispers. But it didn't sound angry; it didn't sound like Drift was questioning Ratchet, just like Ambulon had; something he probably wanted to do in private to keep up his apathetic appearance.

Drift and Ratchet continued conversing. Ten minutes, twenty, thirty. Ambulon listened, even if he couldn't understand a word. He listened, now staring at the floor beside him. Quietly reaching back and scratching his shoulder.

\---

Ambulon and Drift never did get to meet Ratchet's friend. The medic left that morning, trusting he wouldn't return to find his apartment ransacked. Ambulon wanted to ask Drift what he and the medic talked about, but he knew he'd just get the cold shoulder. They washed and drank energon, talked about what they'd do if they managed to join Ratchet on the _Lost Light_.

Ratchet returned later that evening, beaming and holding up two folders with very important files inside.

Ambulon and Drift never did find out the friend's name, either. "Let's just say," Ratchet teased, "he's a real groovy cat."

\---

The day had come. The _Lost Light_ was an hour from shipping off, starting its maiden voyage.

"Remember," Ratchet said, handing Drift a compact datapad, "you're not Drift, or Deadlock. You're Riff."

Ambulon honestly wished he could be amused by this, but just wasn't in the mood.

"Though your alt mode's not too common, it won't be a problem worth questioning," Ratchet continued, keeping a safe distance behind the line of Autobots filing onto the ship. "And if anyone thinks you 'look familiar,' you can just throw some thought-provoking proverb about judging people with similar alt modes. If it doesn't make them feel bad, they'll think you're a stiff and leave you alone."

"Why not just say you're a Drift/Deadlock fanatic?" Ambulon snorted, picking his hip. "That might go over just as well."

"And as far as everyone knows, Ambulon was once an Autobot medic; an MTO constructed shortly before the war ended," Ratchet said a little loudly. He poked the ID in Ambulon's hands. "You can use another alias, if you want. All the good names are taken, but you might find one a bit better than Ambulon."

"I'm keeping the name," Ambulon said. He frowned sadly. "Besides... It's not even my name. Not my _real_ name, anyway. The Decepticon they experimented on back on Neutronia died, along with everyone else involved."

"Ambulon is a moniker he gave himself," Drift added. "If the Autobots who raided the project have any photos, chances are they're ones of Ambulon before the surgeries."

Ambulon tried not to grimace. "Yeah. Probably."

"And no one on the crew list matched any bots you know or met before?"

"None," Drift said.

Ambulon shook his head. He cleared his throat, eyeballing Drift. "But why is it Dr... Why is it Riff gets to dress up?" He gestured to the painted red markings on Drift's face.

Drift said, "The marking designs were my choice. I saw it as an opportunity to honor my fallen comrade Dai Atlas."

"Oh, Primus, a _third_ friend?"

"Drift--sorry, _Riff_ \--is also a Spectralist. I thought making him a hardcore Spectralist would keep people from interacting with him too much," Ratchet explained, grinning. "Nobody likes a religious old hippie. Tend to avoid 'em."

Drift grumbled to himself.

"I... see..."

"We can all agree on one thing, though," Ratchet chuckled, waving a hand over Drift, "damn fine remodeling job I did with so little time on my hands. So nice, so fresh, like your spark just popped out from a hot spot." He looked to Ambulon, patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't make any changes to your frame. But if you'll let me, I'd like to--"

"My body's stuck this way, and I'm fine with it," Ambulon lied. "No one's gonna get past the fact I transform into a leg to care about who I was and where I came from anyway."

"I've got both your backs, just remember that."

Drift believed Ratchet. Ambulon... still not as confident.

"You two ready to search for the Knights of Cybertron?" Ratchet exclaimed, joining the single file line to the ship.

Drift said nothing. Ambulon scratched his waist.

"Your enthusiasm is infectious," Ratchet sneered. 

Drift stood beside Ratchet in the line. He glanced back at Ambulon.

Ambulon hesitated. He looked over his ID, the photo of him frowning, back to Drift and Ratchet with his inviting, eager smile.

Well, here went... everything. Ambulon had survived this far--hopefully this expedition wouldn't be the end. With heavy feet, he joined the two in the line. "If we get caught, I'm gonna rip your fraggin' crest off," Ambulon scowled, jabbing Ratchet in the chest with his ID.

"That's fair," Ratchet said, smiling. As the line started moving, Ratchet removed a small, bright blue flask from a compartment. Fingered it open and knocked back a swallow. "Mm, yes." He held it out to Ambulon. "Want a sip? Bit strong, I must warn you."

"Drinking so early?" Drift asked, browplate raised.

"I'm christening the ship!" Ratchet scowled defensively. "And since I'm a member of said ship, I am a _part_ of the ship. Therefore, I am christening it--through me." He took another drink, swinging back; whipped forward with a howl and guffaw. "Woo!"

Ambulon knew better, but-- "Lemme try," he said. He grabbed the flask, took a short sip. Ambulon dropped almost it as he coughed and gagged. "Damn! Frag! Scrap! F-FfffSHIT--" He rubbed his throat, coolant flooding his mouth.

Ratchet cackled. "I know, right?"

Drift had taken the flask and a few drinks. "This is considered high grade?" he snorted, unimpressed. He tossed the bottle carelessly back to Ratchet.

\---

As it turned out, most of the _Lost Light_ 's crew was fairly self-absorbed--and probably insane. 

There'd been a few bumps during lift off--mostly the ship doing a quantum jump across the damn universe. Ambulon had almost been sucked out with a chunk of the crew, holding on for dear life to a railing along the wall. Fortunately, Ratchet held onto Drift from inside a nearby room, giving Drift enough length to reach out, grab Ambulon, and pull him to safety.

"Holy slag holy slag holy slag! Frag!" Ambulon wailed, raking his hands down his helm and peeling away paint. "You _are_ trying to kill us!"

"Something's gone wrong!" Ratchet shouted.

"No scrap, genius!"

Eventually, the ship came to a dead halt in space. After a briefing, Rodimus landed the _Lost Light_ on a nearby planet to collect any fallen comrades. Most of which died upon entering aforementioned planet's atmosphere.

Ratchet and Ambulon split off to retrieve one of the Autobots who had managed to survive entry. Most of him cooked, legs burned away, but alive. They applied emergency medicine, and Ratchet was surprised at just how fast Ambulon was to take over. He allowed the younger medic to make the calls, working quick but effeciently. As soon as the Autobot was stabilized and allowed to be moved, they carried him back onto the ship on a MARB.

And... then... There was the stowaway sparkeater shortly thereafter, terrorizing the ship and killing more crewmates. 

Once things finally wound down for real, Ratchet pulled Ambulon aside to speak with him in private.

"You were amazing out there," Ratchet said, his optics sparkling.

"Which time?" Ambulon huffed, arms folded. "The raining corpses or the spark eating monster?"

"I would like to take you on as my student," Ratchet offered. "I believe with me as your mentor, you will only get better. I can sharpen your skills, help you hone them perfectly. Who knows; after a while under my tutelage, you may even surpass me as CMO one day."

"Hey, did you like, get your ego listed as a separate crewmate, or--"

Ratchet laughed, slapping Ambulon on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. People tell me I'm either too sarcastic, or too vain," he said, tilting his head. "I try to keep it evenly balanced."

Ambulon smiled, just a little. "Well... I wouldn't mind, I guess. If you taught me some of your stuff. But I'm content just bein' a nurse." His eyes darted up and down the hall. "Keeps me outta the spotlight, yanno?"

"Sure, sure."

Ambulon thought of something. "Tell you what..." He took Ratchet gently by the arm, leading him away from the suite he shared with Drift. "I'll agree to be your pupil, but... I want something in return."

Ratchet squinted. "But..."

"I mean, I want... I want to know more..." Ambulon stared down at his twiddling thumbs. "... About Drift."

Ratchet's expression softened. "Ah."

"Like..." Ambulon hesitated another moment, looked up again. "What was Drift like before the war? How did you two meet?"

Ratchet chuckled fondly. "How many 'it's a long story' excuses are we allowed to have?"

"One, and ya used it up already."

"Guess it's only fair then. To be honest... It was quite by accident, and really kinda scary," Ratchet explained, leaning back against the wall. Ambulon listened closely. "I was on my way to the academy; overslept, you see, from a party the nigh--that's not important. I decided to take a short cut; it was in the slums, but I was already running late and this way would save me some time." He grumbled. "I was stopped by a group of muggers. Four against one. Didn't stand a chance; this was before the war, before I really learned how to fight."

"And Drift... saved you?"

"Actually, Drift was one of the muggers," Ratchet laughed. "But when I told them I had nothing, that I was just a medic trying to get to class, he believed me. I don't know why, but he did. The others didn't, and were determined to throw me around until they shook something outta me. Drift kept telling them to stop, to leave, but they wouldn't listen. Fortunately, when the others started ganging up on me, Drift intervened. He kicked all their afts--his own friends, mind you. Just to protect me, some nobody he'd never met before."

"Huh." Ambulon grinned. "Nice."

"A few days later, I ran into him again. Just him; he'd taken a beating, but the wounds were days old. Probably from his betrayed friends. I offered to patch him up as thanks for saving my diode. He was reluctant, but I eventually got him to agree. And that's when he told me we had met before. And I... Well, I was a bit ashamed I didn't remember, but when he told me, it all just came flooding back."

"What happened?"

"A month before these events, Orion Pax--you know him as Optimus Prime--brought in an injured bot he found. Couple of jerks were beating the poor guy up. After taking care of them, he had me take care of their victim--Drift, as you've suspected. He was..." Ratchet clenched his jaw tight, glancing down the hall.

"He was what?" Ambulon pressed.

"He was... badly wounded. But I repaired and nursed him back to health. Drift was much older than me, but he seemed so... so genuinely surprised, kind of skittish, that I had fixed him. Like he was expecting something in return--something _awful_."

"Scrap..."

"Yeah," Ratchet mumbled. "He told me his name, and then he left. I didn't think I'd see him again, but..." He smiled. "Slowly after reuniting, we became really good friends. He did teach me how to fight, a little, and I taught him some basic medicine, mostly how to properly clean and patch up wounds." He rubbed his forehead. "Even though I thought I'd left the party scene behind me, I was still a bit of a handful at times. Drift helped me out; eventually gave me a scolding that set me straight." Ratchet shrugged. "For the most part. I know I may seem like a hard drinker, but I'm really not. It's just, ever since I returned to Cybertron, seeing the extent of all the damage, everything we'd done for that damn war..."

"Life's been Hell for us all," Ambulon comforted. "I don't blame you." After all, he'd been addicted to neuro-boosters once. Drift had shaken him out of that habit, too.

"And so we became close friends." Ratchet went tense. "Until the war. Drift... He'd only known a life of pain; he had to fight, and claw, and bite his way through life. Drift was angry--he had every right to be. And the Decepticons... The Decepticons appealed to him. At the time, the Decepticons actually weren't as sadistic and maniacal as they are--were--today. They had a much more... noble purpose: to take down a corrupt system that abused its lower class citizens with extreme prejudice."

"I heard that's what the Decepticons originally stood for. It's what they told me, when I first came online," Ambulon replied. "They said I was fighting for 'the greater good' and that even if I had to kill and maim, ultimately the Decepticon way was the 'only righteous way.' That Autobots only pretended to campaign for peace. They just wanted to crush the Decepticons, and start up the old system again."

Ratchet chortled. "Well, we're not always noble, and we've got our fair share of monsters and mistakes, but I believe the Autobots really are for universal peace and justice. Just... Now that we have it, I wonder how long we can keep it?" He shook his head. "Over four million years of war. Was it worth it? Sometimes, I wondered, though I knew I'd never leave the Autobots. I believed what I was doing was right and just, and I believed in Optimus Prime."

"Same could be said for many of the Decepticons," Ambulon added. "About the cause, about Megatron."

"Well, war's over," Ratchet said, "let's try believing in each other--as one race--from now on." He invented loudly. "But! To sum up: Drift was pretty much the same then as he is now. Just more wily, more quick on the draw, maybe a pinch less bitter. It's Deadlock I didn't know. Kinda glad I still don't."

"If it helps," Ambulon offered, not very confidently, "in the time we've known each other, Drift's never lost his temper or anything like... really bad." Sure he'd gotten violent, but each time was justified, and Drift avoided needless violence and killing.

"That is a relief, actually," Ratchet thanked him. "Maybe having you around helps. He's an antisocial rustbucket, but I really do think he gets lonely, too."

Ambulon's cheekplates warmed. "I like to think we both keep each other company. He's helping me with my own problems." Ambulon turned away, stroking his arm. "Y'know. With the project, my teammates dying..."

Ratchet frowned, optics dimming. "Hey," he said, placing both hands on Ambulon's square shoulders, "I won't ask you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, but... If you want to talk about... whatever... I'm open to listen, okay? You're Drift's friend, and so you're mine now, too." He winked. "Besides, I need all my medics in tip-top shape. Don't need you bringing personal drama into the sickbay."

Ambulon puffed, but ultimately nodded and agreed. "Thanks," he said, slightly patting Ratchet once on an arm.

"Good. Let me know if you need anything else; I'm off to the medbay to discharge Powerglide. He hasn't stopped whining since we admitted him yesterday. That loud-mouthed glitch..." Ratchet walked off with a scowl, hands on his hips.

Ambulon waited until he was gone before returning to his quarters. Drift was sitting on the floor, meditating; his unsheathed swords on the ground, light glinting off the freshly polished and sharpened blades. Ambulon stood in the doorway, wondering if this was a bad time. He hadn't really got a good look at all of Ratchet's upgrades on the older bot's body yet.

All sleek black and white with red streaks and decals. A bit more armored, his helm finials sharper and more pronounced. The red lines on his face jagged, like half-bolts of lightning shooting from the bottom of his optics, ending halfway down his dark cheeks. His eyes a pretty, warm blue, though creases still stretched from their corners, giving away some of his age.

Ambulon wasn't able to upgrade or change his body. The experiment made that impossible. But Ratchet had given him a fresh new paint job--it didn't last very long before he started shedding again, but at least he wasn't picking and scratching nearly as much.

Until the past couple days, however.

Comparing himself to Drift... Ambulon felt like a hunk of junk all cobbled and glued together. Drift, with his smooth armor and divine markings... It was like they came from two entirely different worlds. And Ambulon was starting to feel a little left out, as if he didn't belong with Drift. Despite their fears, Drift remained the enigmatic Riff to his crew, boring off those who got too close. Yet he'd made some friends anyway; Rodimus was quick to cozy up to him, though Drift insisted they speak candidly only in private. Didn't want too much attention on him, especially if everyone thought Drift was Rodimus's new best friend.

Ambulon hadn't made any friends. He didn't want any. When he wasn't working in the medbay, he was usually in his suite, reading or recharging or talking with Drift or Ratchet or both. The two always seemed to be together outside work and ship duties. Whenever they had free time, Ratchet would go visit Drift, and vice versa. They didn't hide their "budding" friendship nearly as well to everyone else.

Ambulon noticed a change in Drift. Something so subtle. While still bitter, cocky, quiet and domineering, he also seemed equally serene, talking a bit more, smiling often. But usually always with Ratchet--sometimes with Ambulon, but Ratchet was with them most of those times. 

A few days later, Drift was stretching on the floor, Ratchet perched on the edge of the empty slab and talking with him. They discussed some past encounter with a bot they ran into that would one day become famous, Ambulon wasn't really listening. But Drift was intrigued enough. Even smirked; once corrected a detail in Ratchet's story.

Ambulon slipped out of the room, unnoticed. He took his datazine with him, sitting by the door and scrolling through the pages. Could still hear Ratchet and Drift from inside, voices soft and muffled. He had to keep rereading lines, not really processing anything. Grunting, Ambulon scooted down--down, down, down to their neighbors' suite door. Couldn't hear the chatterbugs anymore, and so Ambulon settled back in with his zine.

Still couldn't focus, in the end.

\---

A week had passed, and Ambulon was finally dismissed from working a long eight hours on emergency intensive surgery on four Autobots. It was grueling, tedious, nerve-wracking; Hoist had joined both him and Ratchet, as well as a couple bots with basic medical training. Ratchet snapped at Rodimus and Magnus, stating they needed more doctors, they should have asked for others to join, this was just ridiculous.

While the medics had saved all four lives, two of them would need to stay behind and keep an eye on their patients' recovery for the next twenty-four hours. Ratchet nominated himself, shooting Hoist down instantly. A Minibot who had helped with welding and stitching agreed to stay with Ratchet. Thus Hoist, Ambulon, and Lancet were off the clock--in twelve hours, the former two would take the next shift.

Ambulon was exhausted, tiredly washing energon and oil from his hands. Sprayed himself down in disinfectant, almost falling asleep in the washracks. He returned to his chambers, slightly more alert but still in need of rest. As soon as he opened the door, he saw Drift crossing the room, hanging up and securing his swords to the wall beside his slab.

"Just get in?" Ambulon asked, rubbing his optics.

"I was helping train a few of our crewmates," Drift explained. He turned to Ambulon. "I heard it was touch and go in the sickbay today. You worked very hard, I see. And they say the patients will live."

"So long as they stop playing with explosives," Ambulon groused, plopping down on the edge of his bed. "Even if you think it's a dud, don't be a stupid fragger, _don't play with grenades or bombs, dud or active, I just_..." He took a cube of plain energon from his nearby desk, finishing half of it in two swallows. He exvented, letting some of the liquid dribble down his chin. "Anyway. Yeah. Fun."

Drift eyed Ambulon. "You haven't been picking and scratching lately. Not since I last saw you," he noted.

"Too busy. Plus this work keeps me on my boots."

"I see."

Ambulon snickered. "Were you worried about me?"

"A little, yes."

Ambulon spit up into his drink, splashing some of it on his face and between his eyes. He quickly put the cube down, cleaning up. "Oh, ah--well! I'm f-fine, yeah."

Drift squinted. "Apparently." He fetched a folded rag from their joined closet, sitting on his own slab. Starting polishing his shoulder.

"What're you doin'?" Ambulon asked, curious. He cautiously took another drink.

"I am going to take a walk and explore the ship," Drift answered, shining the plating on his forearms, "stop by the medbay, check on Ratchet. Talk with him for a while so he doesn't fall asleep."

Ambulon twitched. "... Hey, you know. Ratchet and I have been talking, too. He wants to mentor me, teach me all he knows about the medical field."

"He will make a wonderful teacher."

"Yeah, so... We've gotten kinda close." Ambulon licked his lips, leaning forward. "And it got me wondering--what was Ratchet like when you met him? Were you any different back then?" He secretly crossed a pair of fingers behind his back.

"He has changed, yes," Drift answered, polishing the armor along his hand and fingers. "As have I."

"Oh? You _weren't_ always old and bitter?"

Drift snorted.

Ambulon clutched the edge of the slab, a little excited. "Tell me," he pressed, gently, "what you guys were like. Before the war."

"It happened so long," Drift said, "so many, many things, great and terrible. It matters not, in the end. What matters is the future."

Ambulon chewed the inside of a cheek. "Yeah, true, but... I just wanna know how you guys became friends," he laughed softly. Trying to appear innocent and harmless.

"He helped me," Drift stated, "I helped him."

Ambulon waited for an elboration, but of course there was none. "Is it that hard to just... talk about your past? Especially your past with Ratchet--"

"It's not important, I said."

Ambulon furrowed his browplates, spark burning with irritation. "Why is it... Why can't you just open up to me?" he demanded. Drift looked back at him, mildly surprised. "I'm not asking for a whole lot, but at least a little something. Ratchet and you--you're so close, despite all those years apart. I... I know I'm not him, and I'm not Wing or Dai Atlas. But I thought I _was_ still your friend. Maybe not the best or closest, but _good enough_ that you might... _talk_ to me."

Drift frowned, shoulders sinking. "I am a private bot, Ambulon. You've known this--"

"But with Ratchet, you're so--"

"It's different."

Ambulon blinked a few times. "Different?" he prodded. "In what way?"

"Let it go, Ambulon," Drift ordered, his tone icy.

Ambulon clawed at his side, pulling back thin lines of red and white paint. "But you--"

"Stop."

" _Stop_!" Ambulon shouted, throwing up his fists. "Telling me to stop!"

"You need to calm down. You're acting like a sparkling."

Ambulon snarled. "Fine!" He shot up to his feet. "Primus fraggin' forgive me for tryin' to be a damn friend! I only wanted to--to get closer, so you could trust at least more than--than one fraggin' person, since your only two other friends are _dead_!"

"That's _enough_!" Drift snapped.

Ambulon shivered, enraged. "Yeah," he spat, storming for the door, "whatever."

\---

Ambulon immediately went to Swerve's bar. It was the first time he visited, actually. But he needed a drink--better yet, a free drink.

"Heeeey!" Swerve greeted as Ambulon plopped down at the empty end of the bar. He walked over, cleaning a glass with a rag. Only really did it for appearences. "I know you! You're that medic with the really bad name! Starts with an A... ahhh..." He looked up at the ceiling, at the multiple knife holes and spitballs Whirl and a few other rowdy customers had left.

"Abdominus," Ambulon grunted, deadpan.

Swerve laughed. "Yeah. That sounds about right." He turned to the nearest tap, filling up a cube with fuschia colored engex. "You look down, Abs. Cabin fever? Relationship problems? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"None," Ambulon sniped defensively.

Swerve shrugged. "Well, whatever the reason, you obviously need a drink," he said, placing the cube in front of Ambulon. "Here. It's on the house."

Ambulon squinted. "Aren't all the drinks free?"

"Yes," Swerve said, leaning over; his visor winked, "but yours is _extra free_ free."

Ambulon just stared at the Minibot before muttering a low, "Thank you," and taking a drink. Pretty tame stuff; he could handle this. Swerve stuck around a minute or two, hoping for some juicy gossip, but after Ambulon stared him down in complete silence, the bartender ventured off to clean more spare cubes.

Ambulon exvented, resting his chin on his propped arm. He looked at his mishapen expression in the engex as it slowly swirled around and around. He was... wrong, he knew. Wrong to be mad at Drift for not opening up, not wanting to share very personal information about himself with Ambulon. He had every right to his privacy; Ambulon worried he'd just force Drift to tear open old wounds in the process, too. They were friends; Ambulon hated seeing Drift in pain, especially on his behalf.

Ambulon took another drink. The liquid was warm as it went down his throat. And didn't that make him a hypocrite? Demanding Drift lower his defenses, all those walls he spent centuries building, when Ambulon was just as equally apprehensive to share his own life story. He spilled everything to Drift on Illex, true, but the circumstances had been different. More dire. Ambulon needed help, and Drift was the only one willing to give him anyway. Drift's trust didn't come easy, and so Ambulon paid a high price.

Sometimes he regretted it. Sometimes he wished Drift had only known him as just another Decepticon field medic who got shafted when he was being built. Crap alt mode, but totally random; nothing to do with anything serious, like the Combicon project. But as he got to know Drift better--while still knowing very little at the same time--he felt less upset and more comfortable being himself.

As Ambulon finished his cube, he wondered what all this ultimately led to. What did it all mean? Ambulon wasn't one to pry into others lives. He didn't care to know people's history, unless it was medically related. He wasn't even that interested in forming serious relationships.

Relationship problems, Swerve said.

Was that it?

What made him so damn curious about knowing Drift's past? Actually, a small fraction of it--his past with Ratchet. Why did any of that matter to him? Drift and Ratchet were old buddies who trusted one another. That should be enough, and it usually _was_ enough--for anybody else. But something about Ratchet and Drift, about their friendship, about their history--

"You can't compete with history."

"Wozzat?" Swerve asked, suddenly reappearing, all ears.

Ambulon groaned, slowly planting his face against the bar. Swerve was disappointed, but nonetheless refilled his empty cube and slid it beside Ambulon's head. Added a long pink curly straw. Ambulon felt around the straw without looking up before stretching it out and down, allowing him to drink his engex without needing to raise his head. Someone was laughing at him from across the bar, but he didn't care.

Was he... jealous? Of their relationship? Was it because Ambulon had lost the only people he ever trusted? Was it his mutated programming? Demanding and yearning for an even closer bond? Needing that, searching for it. Found it in Drift and Ratchet's relationship, wanted to squeeze in, or wanted to replace Ratchet. Was it all just coding, or something much deeper? Was Ambulon not nearly as comfortable being alone as he liked to think he was? Did he want at least one friend--one friend that belonged only to him. One he didn't have to share.

Reaching out was one thing, but this... felt different. Ambulon knew it wasn't that complicated. And he also knew it wasn't that simple. 

Sure, some of his gestalt altered programming probably saw their relationship as something to attach to, become a part of--but like the experiment, there needed to be a deep level of compatibility, and that involved complete trust from all parties. Natural Combiners probably didn't need to worry about this shit--natural Combiners could hate one another, but still be able to combine and work as one unit. Red circle can fit into blue circle despite their different colors, but you can't fit a square in a circle, no matter how much you try to file down the edges. Not organically, at least.

But it wasn't all simple coding. Ambulon couldn't say it was just his messy lines of data, binary ones and zeroes. It was also... emotional. A feeling only known to his spark; it ached a unique sort of pain. Beyond loneliness, something much uglier--and so Ambulon, on his third cube now, was back to square one.

Was it jealousy?

Was Ambulon jealous of Drift and Ratchet's deep bond because he needed to feel like a part of something? But also because... Ratchet got to see sides of Drift Ambulon never would. Ratchet brought out things in Drift Ambulon never could. And Ambulon very much wanted to be that kind of person to Drift, and only to Drift.

"Noooo..." Ambulon groaned, nearly spilling engex down his chest as he took another drink. Fourth cube, almost done, completely wasted. He had sort of hoped the high grade would numb his feelings. But he kept thinking, fighting the haze of overcharge; the struggling, the arguing with himself, with the engex-- _stop thinking. Just relax. This isn't a big damn deal. Calm down, you dolt, and just enjoy the fraggin' free drinks._

Just be happy for Drift. Drift was so much nicer and laid back when he was with Ratchet. Just be happy your one and only real friend is happy. Why make this so difficult?

Then again, it was Ratchet who also caused Drift so much of his pain. He knew that much. Whenever Drift brought Ratchet up in the past, he saw how sad and upset it made him, before Ambulon even had a name and a face to pin to these specific regrets. Ratchet should apologize for causing Drift all that misery... that Ambulon had no real context or clear understanding of. But now Ambulon was all raw emotions and engex. He didn't care if he was right or wrong--Ratchet was wrong. Ratchet needed to know the terriblebadicky feelings he gave Drift because... because. _The bastard knew what he did_.

Ambulon slammed his final cube down. He pushed himself away from the bar, stood. Turned and marched to the exit. Staggered a little, almost caught his hip on a table, but so far, so good. He knew what he was doing, where he was going. So long as he didn't get lost and wake up ten hours later in the engine room with no memory of how he got there, everything was fine.

Rung was finishing up a large puzzle at a corner table, enjoying a glass of plain energon. He spotted Ambulon stomping and rambling drunkenly to himself, heading for the door.

"Ambulon," Rung called out, worried, "do be careful."

Ambulon's spark flared with fury, optics wide and blazing. "Yeah?" He looked back at Rung, the furious expression on his face enough to frighten the therapist. "Well, _screw you_!" He flipped Rung a dirty sign and half-tripped out the door.

Rung considered comming security to escort Ambulon back to his suite, but then a wrestling Whirl and Tripodeca fell on his table, knocking over his drink and scattering his puzzle across the floor.

\---

Halfway on his mission to chew Ratchet out, Ambulon quickly realized he missed the medic's floor, and was actually heading back to his own room. He stood in the elevator a moment, blinking back the hazy film over his optics.

"You dumb fragger," Ambulon spat. Why did he think yelling at Ratchet was a good idea? Ratchet didn't do anything wrong. It was just misplaced anger. He exvented, squeaking when the lift doors almost shut on his body before stumbling out. Ugh--Ambulon clasped a hand over his mouth. He didn't... feel so good, the need to purge rising.

Ambulon placed a hand to the wall, using it to keep him upright as he swayed to his room. Fortunately it was close by, and no one else was in the corridor to see him so pathetically wasted. It was pure luck he'd managed to enter the password to the suite correctly the first time. As the door started to open, Ambulon quickly reached out and stopped it, yanking it back to a small crack.

Ratchet and Drift were inside. And they were talking. Not verbally, but with their hands. 

They sat closely together on Drift's slab, hands clutched and signing along fingers and palms and wrists. So fast and seamless--Ratchet was the one who taught Drift chirolinguistics, then. Ratchet was smiling warmly, looking the happiest Ambulon had ever seen him. And Drift... Drift looked just as pleased, in his own, more subtle way, and completely at home. Otherwise he would have been up and clear across the room the second the door started opening.

Ratchet stopped the conversation to grab and squeeze Drift's hands, hold them in place. He leaned in, nuzzling his chevron to Drift's forehead. Drift didn't stiffen or tense up as he usually would--nor did he reject the intimate caress. Ambulon's optics widened--Drift actually cuddled back. Their optics closed and noses brushing, softly smiling and chuckling.

Ambulon let the door shut, stepping away until his back was pressed against the opposite wall. He blinked a few times, his cheekplates warm, but with a cold weight in his tanks. He didn't realize it until he finally looked at his hands; he'd scratched and tore nearly all the paint from his palms.

_You can't compete with history._


End file.
